(From an actual conversation at work, I swear…only the names have been omitted to protect the insane…) :razz:

A thirty-eight year old mother of three stood in the midst of our small circle, aggressively voicing her opinion about one of our local sports stars, a young man of twenty-two.

“I don’t think he’s doing a very good job of handling this celebrity thing,” she said, pointing an accusing finger. “Other young men look up to him. He should be a roll model for them, set a good example. But no–he’s out there buying all these fancy cars and houses, partying with the big names…I’m telling you this: If I were his mother, I’d have him investing all those millions wisely. Building up his portfolio. Looking out for his future, and that of his children. And I know he does some charity work, but he should give more to the neighborhoods, take boys under his wing and help them better themselves. Shame on him.”

A voice from the outside circle chimed in. “And what would you tell your daughter if she were his girlfriend?”

“What would I say to her?” She planted her hand on her hip. “I’d say, ‘Girl, what in the world are you doing? You’ve been going out with this money-making man for six months now, and you’re not pregnant?? What’s the problem? Pills? You mean to tell me you’re using birth control?! Gimme those damn pills! What the hell is wrong with you?…’”