Wednesday, July 29, 2015

The Tequila Worm

If I had one I’m fairly confident my womb would be amazing


I moved house last Saturday. And as large, conglomerate corporations don't give a flying toss about the regular people I still don't have internet at my house despite the completion date being July 27 on my order. So - like a real weirdo - I find myself sitting in a library using my laptop. I'm being very flippant there. I have been sat in Starbucks most of the week sorting out bills, changing addresses and that sort of thing. But I'm quite aware I've two enormous cups of iced coffee already today and could happily have sex with a caramel-crunch frappucinno right now - so have opted against Seattle's finest brown water restaurant. 

My kids have been away most of the month and I pick them up from the airport Saturday late afternoon. They're flying back with their grandparents. That time has (in a boring cliche) flown by and taken forever. During that time I've spoken on the phone to my daughter twice and my son once. Having too much fun and being so young means that when I needed to talk to them they decided that kayaking and going to county fairs was a much better option. Actually my daughter did send me a few emails. My son though said three words to me - those being "ice cream sundae." Fair enough. It's a fairly solid bet that he's had one of those most nights since he arrived at the grandparents. 

In the time they were away I made myself a few promises. One - move house and get their room sorted. Two - work out like a bastard while I have the spare time. Well - I moved. Their room has the boxes of books in it I haven't unpacked yet. No furniture. No accents. No success there. As for working out - I haven't cranked that up at all. I do workout enough as it is. But all it takes is one evening scouring Pinterest for tattoos to realize what you have in mind would look a lot better if you didn't have to do a shit-ton of crunches to actually see your six pack. Or have such a frighteningly white arse because the rest of your body has been sun-tanned by the brutal, Arizona death-orb. And it was around 9pm last night when I caught a glimpse of myself naked in the mirror - stood naked in my kitchen with tortilla chip in one hand and a margarita in the other - that I thought, "nice work Adonis." My eyes aren't great from a distance but I still managed to make out that a) I need a shave, b) my arse is so white it looks like I've been squatting in coconut cream (I totally haven't - those pictures are photoshopped - I don't care what anyone says), and c) at no point should should a pointy, triangular tortilla chip be that close to an uncovered penis. I've got plenty of time for food introduced into your sex life. You don't even want to know what I'd do with a 99 flake and pop rocks. But if I can imagine a nurse saying, "so you're saying you tripped over a enormous box of Febreeze room scents and that's when the tortilla went into your urethra?" then it's time to start snacking with knickers on.

Anyhoo - I'll work out later. Probably. The naked mexican home-dining will obviously be repeated too despite what I said above. What can I say - I like to live dangerously. And perhaps it'll be a great way to meet the neighbours as the EMT stretchers me outside - with my salsa dip on it's own little stretcher, one would hope.




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