Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

“Who is that, and why have I not seen him before?” Erin asks.

Laney, who is slurring but still understandable, says, “That asshole works with Carter at Davenport Construction. He is the biggest man-whore on Tybee Island.”

“I’ll bet,” my sister agrees, “his body screams bad boy who will make you scream bad things.”

We all three laugh so loud we draw the attention of most of those around us.

“Move along,” Laney shoos them, “nothing to see here.”

“Lan, where in the hell did you learn to dance like that?” I ask, “I wasn’t sure if I was watching you or Beyoncé.”

“Driver, roll up the partition please,” Bryn singsongs in reference to yet another sex-filled Beyoncé hit as she and Maverick crowd around the table.

“Shit, I got moves that would even make Maverick blush.”

“On that note, ladies,” he nods, “try not to get into too much trouble.”

Bryn studies his backside like it’s a new yoga pose as he saunters off, noticing him take a seat beside a busty redhead. “That fucker was totally trying to get into my pants while he has a date sitting over there, wasn’t he?”

Snickering, Laney pats her on the back. “Trust me, Bryn, you would have to live in one of your fuckin’ body-shouldn’t-be-able-to-bend-that-way-meditation-poses to deal with that man.”

“Truth,” I add in for support, or just to hear my own voice—I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that my face has reached the numb status, meaning it?

??s time to slow down on the alcohol. So maybe, just one more drink.

“Jo, any chance of you making use of your lady parts tonight?” Bryn asks

“Preach,” my sister agrees while Laney nods enthusiastically. We have been here for two hours and while there are multiple men here, I haven’t managed to talk to one of them except for the time I had to turn down the fifty-something who asked me if I wanted to do the “Giddy Up” when they were playing it earlier. Fuck my life. Really, this is the best I can do? I washed my hair today for fuck’s sake. Hair, makeup, tight red dress and it is still as if I’m invisible to anyone who isn’t on leave from Green Acres Senior Living Center here on the island.

“Shots!” I shout toward the bartender, knowing that nothing good will come from this, and I will have to run even further tomorrow to rid myself of these calories. I really don’t care about anything other than getting rid of the mental picture I’ve conjured in my mind—dating rest home residents with old man balls. Jose, make it stop.

Three shots later—we are all trashed, completely trashed, but that’s okay—my mind is free of any real thoughts.

“Those have to be fake,” Bryn huffs, as she eyes Maverick and the redhead on the dance floor.

“Ooooh,” I say, patting the table as if it gives my words more umph. “I’ve never felt fake ones; do you think she’d let us feel them?”

Three heads meet my gaze head-on immediately.

“Shit, sis, how drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough to not think about old man balls,” I reply, as if they totally know the story behind my thoughts and the fact that I really have always wondered what fake boobs feel like. Who hasn’t? The sounds of Lizzo start to fill the room, and every woman in the room whoops cause honestly, we are all 100% that bitch. Laney, Erin, Bryn and I dance our way back to the middle of the dance floor, eager to do some ass bouncing. Just as we pass Maverick and Red, the lyrics, “Why men great till they gotta be great” plays, and Bryn and I lip sync them flawlessly to Maverick. We continue to sing along as we take over the middle of the dance floor.

Drunk me doesn’t understand why I’m not a performer; I can fuckin’ sing. Sober me knows that I sound anything other than good.

“Let’s get on stage,” I shout over the music, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

“Hell yeah!” Laney shouts, and Bryn and Erin must agree because we’re almost to the DJ’s table by the time I realize that we’re all going. Yasss, we are so much fun. I stare at the DJ’s stand, and it’s not big. All four of us and him are not going to fit on there, so we’re gonna need him to move. I can do those spinny things, can’t be that hard. Just move some records back and forth, make some spittin’ noises.

“Hey, handsome,” Bryn coos at the DJ, motioning for him to bend down so she can whisper something in his ear. Laney and Erin snicker and position themselves for the takeover while I already have one foot, somewhat shaky, behind his turntable, ready to pounce. Bryn has him eating right out of her hand, so I make my move with Laney and Erin bringing up the rear. The next thing you know I have the mic in hand, Lizzo still blasting, and three of the best people ever dancing beside me on this small stage behind a turntable.

“We are so fucking bad ass,” Laney boasts. And we all agree.

Bryn smiles at the DJ now standing below her then lifts her eyebrow as if saying—you really want to mess with four drunk women getting their mean girl rap on?

“WHY MEN GREAT TILL THEY GOTTA BE GREAT!” I shout into the mic like a fuckin’ champ. The club erupts, and we’re all singing and dancing, myself included, like we own the world and will not be wishing for death tomorrow morning. As the song ends, I bring the mic to my mouth, “Mic check, one two,” and create my own dramatic pause. “Mic check, one two,” and the crowd cheers, and I have no fucking clue why other than their asses are drunk too. “Yo, yo, yo,” I shout and shift the record back and forth, creating that noise DJ’s make for effect until the record flies off the table to the right and lands at the real DJ’s feet. Shit, I hope that wasn’t expensive. When he looks up to the stage, I point at my sister. Because obviously, she’s a lawyer; she can pay for it if need be.

I can no longer keep my fans waiting. “Yo, yo, yo, this is DJ Juicy Jordan; are y’all ready to turnt up.”