Hot and Stymied
A couple of nights ago, McHotty and I were getting it on. We’d greased the wheels, and were about to get in gear. McHotty, naked, runs to my dresser drawer to grab a condom:
Drawer opened, scramble, scramble, drawer closed. Flummoxed pause.
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Maybe the condoms are in your drawer,” I offer, hopefully.
Open, scramble, sigh, close. “Shit.”
“Did you look under the bed?” I ask, testily.
McHotty sticks his head under the bed.
“No! Just an empty wrapper. And a lot of books.”
Hmmm. What books! I must clean under the bed, I think.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I say.
“Um, no.” McHotty, plaintively.
Naked, I leap into action and scour dresser drawers. I reach under the bed. I even look under the mattress. Nada. I do a quick calculation what day of my cycle it is…day 9…-ish…I think.
“Fuck it. Go grab a handful of kleenex.”
Labels: flotsam and jetsam