There's a MILF on the Street
Faking it and making it with hot moms
On Tuesdays after school drop-off, my best mom friends and I engage in our favorite weekly activity known as “driveway chat.” Because both Kari and Erin have the day off, we don our best sweats, walk leisurely to Erin’s driveway, and dish on important topics like:
the second grader who called the art teacher a bitch
how hard the math homework is
what we did that week to really piss off our children
vacations we’ll never take
rowing class
why you should never trust Kari’s husband to tell you if it’s recycling day
Bart once asked me if we talk about our husbands.
Sometimes Erin’s neighbor, Joe, joins us, which is exciting. Sometimes we see an Amazon driver fight with a Fed Ex driver. Also exciting. And sometimes, something truly thrilling happens like the day a MILF moved in.
The MILF bought the house next to Joe. Naturally we were all curious about who our new neighbor would be as soon as the For Sale sign touched dirt. One Tuesday as Kari and I were making our way home, a shiny black car came up the street and pulled into the driveway of the recently sold home. We slowed our roll, pretending there was something in my shoe.
The driver’s side door opened releasing a beam of sunshine, unicorn confetti, pink hearts, yellow moons, and purple horseshoes and in their wake emerged our new neighbor.
“Do you think…?” Kari asked.
“Has to be…” I said.
“Should we…?”
But this wasn’t the time for a contemplative debate. Unable to contain ourselves, we ran up her driveway like two Golden Retriever puppies chasing a tennis ball and almost knocked the potted monstera out of her arms. Even that damn houseplant was healthy and glowing.
Hi!
We’re your neighbors!
Who are you?
Where’d you come from?
Do you have kids?
Cute necklace!
Do you day drink?
Are you going to do any work on the house? Can we see it when you’re done! Never mind, we can see in the windows. We like your wallpaper!
Cuuuuuuuuuute!
How are you so pretty???
That last question was the one we were most curious about and obviously didn’t ask. I mean, WTF, girl? Why indeed!
Her name was Lexa (because of course), she was mom to 6-year-old twins(!), and freshly divorced (was that the secret?) She was also as chill and flawless as an Instagram filter. I thought maybe my contacts were just dirty, but nope— this woman had no pores or creases. I fully expected her to say “#ad” every time she opened her mouth. She wore a casual v-neck tee tucked into the cutest pair of mom jeans. Like trendy mom jeans— not just jeans on a mom’s body. The kind that come up to your under-boob, but somehow manage to look figure flattering and girl-next-door-sexy. She probably even got them somewhere youthful like Abercrombie because she still fits into their clothes.
I look pretty cute in mom jeans too. See?
Lexa was polite, even though she was no doubt overwhelmed by the amount of conversation she was forced to have at 8AM. She claimed it was nice to meet us and (allegedly) hoped to see us again. We licked her face and said goodbye.
“Wow, Kari,” I said when we arrived at my house. “Lexa’s kind of a MILF!”
“Damn right!” Kari said. “Very MILFY indeed!”
I’ve written about MILFs before— the Moms I’d Like to Friend variety. Lexa might become that kind of MILF but she was definitely the other kind of MILF. The OG kind. It was odd to see a MILF in the wild. Right there on our street! I thought about writing a post on Nextdoor alerting the neighborhood. Everyone was so concerned about the coyotes, but did they know MILFs walked among us in broad daylight?
Bart was confused by my hot neighborhood news.
“I feel like you’re 13 and telling me you met Jon Bon Jovi,” he said. “Why are you so excited to meet a smoking hot mom? And to be clear, that’s your choice of words.”
Also to be clear, I have plenty of smoking hot mom friends. Literally not an ugly one in the bunch. But to qualify for true MILF status I think we can all agree you have to have an air. An essence. Is it self-assurance? A unique laugh? Decades of staring at an airbrushed by angels face in the mirror? I don’t know. But I do know Lexa’s arrival was pretty much the most exciting thing to happen in the neighborhood since Bart threw a hamburger bun at a drone flying over our backyard. I heralded the news like I was Paul Revere announcing the Brits.
“THERE’S A MILF ON OUR STREET!” I shouted to my neighbor’s nanny. (HA! Remember when nannies were all the rage???)
Most neighbors were confused like Bart. A few were embarrassed.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to use that word anymore,” one said. “Or really ever.”
A less-evolved mom didn’t share my enthusiasm. “Oh great!” she said. “A pretty mom? I hate competition.”
First of all, Less-Evolved-Mom— thanks? I mean, I was literally standing right in front of her. Second, competition for what? Lexa’s not moving to our street fresh from a divorce to swipe at your man! HA! No ma’am! And very hot people need friends too. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say, very hot people need friends more than us normies because the less-evolved go around making assumptions and viewing them as competition. How was that fair? I was more determined than ever to befriend Lexa! Hot people should be allowed to enjoy the company of “nice personality” people too!
Come on, Shelly! Aren’t you even just a little intimidated by this MILF?
Nope. I know, weird, right? But here’s the deal: I love a good MILF as much as the next guy. (Err, wait. That came out wrong. Definitely not the same as the next guy. Or even the guy after him.) What I mean is, I love people who are more fit or have better jobs, or write better Substacks, or are more adept with a curling iron — the list goes on. Am I hitching my decrepit, old wagon to far superior supernovas because I’m so well-adjusted and a genuinely nice person? Good lord, no. Are you new here? Aligning with excellence is just good sense. And it happens to be the root of my best parenting advice:
Fake it til you make it!
That’s right, kids! Every pearl of wisdom can be found nestled in the human psyche. I took one psychology class in college so I’m basically an expert.
From a very young age, I was raised on a diet of Heavenly Hash ice cream, creamed corn, and delusion and my goodness it has served me well. I was never the prettiest, or the smartest, or the fastest kid, but as soon as my mom sensed my confidence faltering, she was right there propping me up with my ownable skills: You’re so good at rhyming! You read Jackie Collins before any of your friends! Thanks to your Aunt Elly, you now have two very nice pairs of Jordache jeans! Now go take on the world!
Hence, I’ve been teaching my son the fine art of making his mouth say the opposite of what his brain is thinking. Nothing disarms that little a-hole kid from the opposing team faster than laughing at their stupid cut-down and responding with something like, “I agree! You hella outplayed us. Your defense was sick. No cap. You’re cracked, bro. GG’s.”
It’s not about tearing others down, Less-Evolved Mom, so much as building yourself up. If my brain clocks one ounce of insecurity, the voice is back shouting things like YOU MAKE IMPRESSIVE CHARCUTERIE BOARDS! YOU FIND THE BEST SHIT AT HOME GOODS! YOU ARE VERY GOOD AT WORDLE! You don’t have to excel at all the things. Too much pressure! Just hone a few key skills, own them, and go find some really beautiful friends to share them with.
At the end of the day, we’re all just imposters looking for a little affirmation. (I also wouldn’t mind a crepey skin repair cream that actually works if you got a recommendation too.) And you know what? It does feel good to give a compliment. Especially when the target is you.
When people see me paling around with my new hot mom friend, some will assume I’m her mother or wonder when I’ll finally look into chin lipo. But others will see a confident, well-adjusted, delusional geriatric mom and think, “Wow! She must have a nice personality!” Even a MILF’s shadow casts a warm, flattering light.
In any case, welcome to the neighborhood, Lexa. Driveway Chat starts promptly at 7:55 AM. Best sweats required.
XO,
Shelly
“She claimed it was nice to meet us and (allegedly) hoped to see us again. We licked her face and said goodbye.”
When I tell you I CACKLED.
There is a DILF at my son’s school that I’ve been avoiding talking to, because at 6 foot 4, athletic and handsome he can only possibly be a complete dick.
Well, turned out he is really cool and friendly. Now my entire worldview is shattered.