The last two months have been packed with parties, dinner dates, out-of-town relatives and local festivities.

I’ve had about all the merriment I can stand for one summer.

But I did learn a couple of things this weekend.

First, the red/green indicator on the Porta-Potty door is not a true indication of whether it’s occupied or not. To the dude I walked in on; you needn’t be embarrassed when next we meet. I won’t recognize your face.

Second, there’s a skank at every gathering. No need to mention names, you know who you are. Everything about you is inappropriate. Your dress, your conversation, your behavior. Everything.

You do know that the rest of us were placing bets on when your boobs are going to fall out of your shirt right? I realize that men appreciate a little cleavage, but I think they also like something to be left to the imagination. And golly, if we women wanted to see boobs, we could look at our own at anytime.

FYI, openly lusting after an eighteen year-old when you’re old enough to be his mother (come to think of it, you are older than his mother) is beyond inappropriate. Your SO showed a helluva lot of restraint. I don’t condone men hitting women for any reason, but, had he only asked, there were a number of women there that would have gladly taken care of that for him.

I hope you’re prepared to pay for the years of therapy that poor kid is going to need thanks to your advances. He hasn’t stopped gagging since.

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