I saw an ugly baby riding along precariously in a shopping cart at the grocery store today, couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. That poor thing wore only a plain used-to-be-white onesie over it’s disposable diaper, and nothing else. The hair was scraggly and dingy, giving no clues as to gender. Colorless lashless eyes, a mouth like a torn pocket, the sum total of the pitiful little upturned face virtually cried out for sympathy, pity even. The mother, on the other hand, was a goddess. If the mother of that ugly baby isn’t a stripper she should run out and apply, they’d certainly hire her right on the spot, and God knows she already sports the wardrobe pickin’s to qualify. I caught my husband checking her out, (no I didn’t blame him), as there I was giving her a once over myself! Cotton candy hair, long fake eyelashes, she stood at least 5”11, if not 6’ tall, and her breasts were enormous but not too enormous. Every inch of her skin, and there was plenty of it on display, was peaches and cream perfection. No pimples, no blemishes, no freckles, no stretch marks, no cellulite, I’m talking perfect! How she managed to traverse the huge warehouse-like market in those stilettos is unfathomable to me. But there she was gliding through the place, the ugly baby staring at its mama just like everybody else.
Okay, so maybe that baby's mama is a stripper, and maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s a housewife, (yeah right, wink, wink), or maybe she’s a kept woman. Whatever, she sure did get my writer’s mind churning.
Keep an eye out, the grocery goddess might turn up in one of my stories…
All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.