*looks around excitedly* I feel like one of those little rat dogs that pee a little when they get all wound up. Better not be rubbin' MY belly today unless you mean it.
Did I mention that today is THE DAY? Fifty five very long days ago, the Innocent Bystander took off for Nigeria, and as of five minutes ago, his plane was about a half inch off the coast of Mauritania, give or take a millimeter. Delta has a groovy feature-if you go to their website homepage, in the bottom left corner of the screen there is a box marked flight status. I put in the IB's flight number (57) and I can see in real time where his plane is. I just want to scootch it closer...faster...harder...*bitch slaps self* Huh? *weak grin* Oh. Heh.
Speaking of scootching (*shakes head* I know-I ain't right). I forgot to tell ya'll the other day that I did not win PlungerGirl's contest for the Throbbin' Robbin. This is not a bad thing, as I was saving myself for the IB anyway, and besides-that thing looked DANGEROUS. Not to mention, I have kind of a mental block against most vibrators. It started many years ago...
Back when I was a sweet young thang, I bought my first vibrator. It was the standard, rigid plastic C battery operated number that was available off the shelf at Spencers back in the 70s. Mr. Smiley was loyal and trustworthy. He got the job done with minimal fuss. As time went on, though, he became less reliable. His contacts became worn down, and sometimes he would let me down at THE most inopportune moment. Or his batteries would slow down and peter out (heh) and leave me whacking him *rolls eyes* against the nightstand in frustration. After one such exercise in futility, I decided to take the bull by the horns (good God, somebody STOP me!) and make sure I was never at the mercy of batteries again, so I bought myself the deluxe ELECTRIC 'personal massage unit'. (Funny how things come full circle, eh?)
A few years pass. I become involved with the ASSHOLE who would become my first husband. He was a charming fellow with a great sense of humor. He worked at a local cemetary cutting grass and digging graves, and would come home for lunch every day at noon. I would have his sandwiches or whatever ready, he would come in, hand me whichever flower he had chosen for me that day...*pauses to give that time to sink in*...and then we would have a little afternoon delight before he went back to work. It became a routine.
Well, YOU know what happens when things become routine. Same thing. Over. And over. And over. Especially when your time is limited, although six pokes and a squirt really don't take THAT much time. Anyway, more times than not, he would get his, and I would get all OHOHOHAHHH and thrash around a bit so as not to damage his precious ego, and he would get dressed and go back to work. Then I would get to work.
There was only one problem. The house that we lived in was a converted barn, and it only had one electrical outlet in the main part of the house, and that was in the bedroom. Well, on this particular day, it was very hot, and while I wanted some 'relief', I did not want to go roll around all by myself in that sweaty bed that we'd just sullied. The living room was air conditioned, so I decided to 'set myself up' there. I got out one of those hundred foot long fluorescent orange extension cords and snaked it through the bedroom, through the dining room, and over to the long leather couch in the living room. I set up pillows and lit a candle and got out my book and got myself all settled. I found a favorite short 'story' and started myself off on low speed. I was all spread out and at the point where I was no longer concentrating on what I was reading, almost to THAT POINT. At the precise moment when I was about to cross that threshold, I heard a sharp intake of breath, and my eyes flew open to see the ASSHOLE standing in the doorway of the living room, eyes wide and most definitely comprehending the implications of his sweet young bride nekkid as a jaybird, spread eagled on the living room couch with her back arched, tethered by the vagina to a hundred foot long fluorescent orange electrical leash not thirty minutes after he had supposedly 'taken care of' me. Talk about ruining a moment. *shakes head*
Needless to say, I haven't been able to look at a vibrator-OR an extension cord-the same way since. Yeah, every once in a while, I'll think back fondly to the days of Mr. Smiley, but somehow, I just can't bring myself to go there. The only appliance I need these days is a spatula. *wicked evil grin*
Okay. That took my mind off of things for a few minutes. Now I have to leave ya'll to your own devices whilst I unravel the cornrows and mow my legs and decide how I'm going to gussie up the pink parts. Fair warning-I'm SURE my post will be late tomorrow!