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OMG, I Am Officially a Creeper!
By Jeannie O'Conor

Thank God that other word, starting with a "c" and ending with an "r"- once used ad nauseum to describe horny women of a certain age, on the prowl for younger men- has fallen out of common usage. But today, on the way home from walking my children to their artsy-fartsy funky school, with yesterday's mascara under my eyes and dried toothpaste foam still visible around my lips, I became something far, far, worse: a creeper. It being Manhattan and the school an artsy-farsty one, it's not a shock to see the occasional faded movie star I crushed on as a teenager (think Brat Pack: the shy, long-lashed, sweet one) or the aging rock idol who created the soundtrack to my adolescence (now a nice- albeit weird looking- old Jewish guy I wait and make small talk with at pickup time). This I handle awkwardly by stammering and blushing while trying to maintain the expected New York protocol of pretending they are nobody special. But my daughter goes to high school with a teenage male supermodel, and today I creeped on him! It was involuntary, I swear, and he's a senior so it's conceivable that he might be 18, but still. Here's what happened: I kissed my embarrassed teens goodbye, and slunk off in my trenchcoat. I encountered a few of my son's middle school classmates, greeting them uncool-ly, and then then it happened. Striding along confidently, flipping his Hugh Grant-circa- 1995 hair that is inexplicably back in fashion, in his red highwater skinny jeans and weird suede Hobbit ankle boots, was Ian Reed (OBVIOUSLY not his real name). My facial features, triggered for the millionth time in my life by the sight of a cute boy, acted from muscle memory and without instructions from my brain, and I cast him a sidelong glance, with a small, knowing smile, like I was in the Stardust Lounge at the, Hilton, somewhere in Jersey, having an Appletini. He totally busted me, too, probably thinking to himself, EWWWWWW. It's not like I offered him some candy and tried to lure him into my van, but…geez, Mrs. Robinson! I tried to rein in the inappropriate glance/smile, but it was too late. We'd made eye contact, and it was too late. I am a creeper. I had to go home and watch the judgmental girl on The View to punish myself.

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