My 15-year-old son and I were at the Embassy Suites happy hour having drinks (me) and snacks (him) with some of the other hockey parents and kids.
One of the hockey moms was a really-hot-for-a-45-year-old redhead whose son plays for another team.
“I haven’t seen your son in a while,” she whispered to me. “He looks so different.”
“Yeah, he’s a lot taller,” I said.
“Not just taller. He’s a gorgeous young man.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
She spent the next hour chatting him up, asking him about features on her iPhone, and so on . . .
“Because she was drunk,” the boy said later.
She was kinda drunk, but that wasn’t the only thing going on. Her husband was sitting a couple of chairs away the whole time, surfing the web on his Blackberry, and never even looked in her direction.
I was talking to my son’s hockey coach between games when a hockey mom he knows and I don’t walked between us and hugged him.
“Excuse me,” I said. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.”
Then she turned around and hugged me. She smelled nice.
“You smell nice,” I said. “What is that?”
“Obsession,” she said.
She was wearing a lot of it. I could still smell it on my clothes two hours later . . .
