Seventeen days of George. Do you know what that’s like? We always complain about how little control we have over our bodies—how they break down, expand and contract, wrinkle and crunch and blemish, but this daily leaking without end is insulting. And tiring. Just when I think my uterus has shed its last bit of lining (there is, after all, a drought happening, triple-digit heat for days on end, my body should get the hint, and follow suit), there will be a new tint of pink or orange besmirching my clothes and toilet paper.
Is it some combination of being a sterilized female who is suddenly having more sex than she has had in years? I’ve been avoiding asking that question directly, and refuse to turn to Google. What if the answer is yes? How exactly would I proceed?
Getting to know each other:
Me: We can visit the house I lived at on Wanda Lane.
CSP: Wanda Lane! That’s your porn name right there. The whole name, first and last.
Me: Yes, my life has been a series of embarrassments.
I did live in Flower Mound after all.
Another Saturday spent in the sun has left me tanner than I have been since I was a child. I can’t keep applying the sunblock fast enough, and thus, my shoulders are brown, and my arms have taken on a dirty pall. There are several reasons I don’t tan, mostly having to do with wanting to look pretty until the day I die, and I find that I do not darken in a pleasing, rich way like most people. I just look dusty, like I’ve been rolling around in barren fields, like I need to be taken out back and beaten with a stick to release the dirt to the wind. Yet, I’m having such a great time out on the water, that I’m going to let my vanity take a bit of a knocking. At least I don’t look like CSP who is so painfully red that the heat coming off his body kept waking me up last night. He does not complain and whine as I would, and even lets me touch him, where I would be demanding he keep his bloody paws off of me, thank you very much. He also brought me a hot dog last night. That, and in so many other ways, I adore this man.
Yesterday Brekkie received his last round of vaccinations. At one point, the vet reached down, felt his balls, and exclaimed, “He can be fixed at any time now!”
No, really?!
No comments:
Post a Comment