Seriously?

Last week I was driving Tatertot to "daycare". All was right in the world, the sun was shining, it wasn't too hot yet (yeah, it was one of those stupid 100 degree days last week), as evidenced by the fact that there were lots of joggers out and about.

I like joggers. More specifically, I like male joggers who like to jog bare-chested. Can I get an Amen?

Anyway, so it was a nice morning. And Tatertot was in a decent mood, too, which is always a bonus. Especially since this was the one day a week that she spends at Aunt P's house. I don't know what her deal is (since, as P put it, "This is the house of Tatertot worship!") but she screams and cries "Noooooo!!!!" when she realizes we're going P's directions instead of toward the Sitter. She's also been known to do a more subdued, quiet, but consistent, "no-no-no-no-no-no-no," as well, which is certainly more funny. But that day she was kind of OK with it.

So we're driving, I'm sight-seeing, enjoying the joggers... We pull up behind one of them, he's youngish, maybe 20 or so, shaved head, wearing a racerback tank and shorts, jogging along. As we pass, he pauses by the bus stop to catch his breath. I continue to sneak glances in the rear view and couldn't help but notice as the school bus (!!) pulls up to the curb and he climbs in.

Yup. I feel dirty.