Yo Momma Wears Combat Boots!

My daughter Destiny is a soldier. The U. S. Army owns her. Maybe I should say she owns it. A wife, and mother of two, she sparkles like a zesty crisp green Vlasic in combat boots. That’s right, when the kids at school become of heckling age, her boys won’t argue or feel humiliated when the other kids say, “Yea…you’re momma wears combat boots!”
Instead, they’ll proudly agree and then counter with a , “..and she can
kick your dads ass too.”

You wouldn’t know it to look at her. Her baby doll features and innocent wide eyed sensuality can turn a room on it’s side. She’s 5’2’with a porcelain complexion, enormous glassy green pools kissed with long feathery lashes. Her aggressive nature reflects itself in her hairs refusal to hold coloring. She got that from me. We’ll be blonde to the end. It’s not our personal preference.
Armed with Army issue fire arms, she’s a formidable opponent.

When she was a kid I thought she’d grow up to be a knock-down gorgeous woman. I hadn’t anticipated she’d be a literal automated killing machine, a capable marksman.

So, when ever you think about insulting the intelligence of the next Bratz shoe-in that catches your eye, remember this, she could be the soldier covering your back in times of war and you know how hormonal women can be

.12/31/2005 10:31 PM
word count 226