YUM YUMS

Beware of Soccer Moms Selling Smoothies

Locker room side gigs are my weakness

In the burbs where I live, one of the most lucrative side gigs is hot moms selling collagen protein shakes in the YMCA locker rooms. I’m easy prey. In the old days, I would have been called snake-oil-receptive.

The mommy-shake-saleswomen are perfect milf ambassadors. They have lustrous radiant hair, phosphorescent flawless pores, and asses that could moonlight as bongos.

If I bumped into these energetic women in the 80s, they would have had beepers clipped to their 501s — directly connecting them to their Kurt Cobain-looking coke dealers, awaiting their call.

Liquid collagen is the hot girl cocaine of this 21st century.

But instead of pushing eight balls onto their rich hotter friends, they have Girl Scout Cookie style forms shoved into their yoga bags.

While I’m drying my hair, I can buy anything from products to make lasers shoot out of my skin to serums that accelerate my hubby’s libido. There’s even something that can make me recover from a dormant zit left over from high school.

Back in the day, I would have driven to Tijuana with these girls. We would have danced on the bar at Señor Frog’s and made out with boys we couldn’t remember the next day.

Now, these same girls are trying to sell me drops that wake me up at 2 a.m. to do yoga.

I miss real drugs.

One of their main pitches is that carrots are no healthier than Ding Dongs. It’s the soil, they say. 8 billion people on the planet have stripped the land of its nutrients.

If you want to live, buy the snake oil.

The only way anyone can survive our deficient planet is to buy their smoothies which can cure everything from perimenopausal acne to bad breakups.

Though many of these mommies have popped out six-plus kids, you wouldn’t know it from their abdonimal six-packs.

I admit when my son was two years old, one of the Schwatzmothers convinced me to buy the Kool-Aid.

Her ponytail was bouncier than a twelve-year-old on a trampoline. Her ass was firmer than over-kneaded bread. I once saw her leap over a crossing guard's Stop sign in a single bound — so she didn’t have to wait at the crosswalk.

I bought her shakes, smoothies, and hair products for the low low price of a second mortgage, my car title, and her free reign to terrorize my social media with her gluteous maximus.

We became fast friends because she stalked me. Her smoothies arrived with a locator chip. Everywhere I saw her — which was everywhere — she marveled at my ascending appearance.

Girl! She’d say. I’ve never seen my smoothies work this fast on anyone!

I’d like to say I kept it up. That the abs in the above photo are mine.

That didn’t happen, but I did learn something important. If Ding Dongs are as healthy as a garden salad, I’m buying my dinner at the Quicky Mart.

Thanks to Stephanie Wilson and BOF for reading its initial iteration and leaving great editing marks. Forgive me if I massacred it and started over.

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