I have been running amok. Since my daughter TG took her kids and her husband and left town for the land of Mickey Mouse and manatees, I have been left to my own devices in our big, blissfully kid-free house. In celebration, I wasted no time in throwing off my clothes. Every stitch.
For the last eight days, I've broken all the rules, broken out of my shell, and broken the lamp behind the couch. How, you ask? Suffice to say (and don't tell my daughter), I had a hard time coming to a full stop. But you know how it is when Journey is blasting through your speakers: Don't stop believin', Hold on to that feelin', yeah . . .
Of course -- and I hesitate to admit this -- I have forever warped my new cat's sense of propriety with my unabashed naked abandon and the lightspeed at which I have been dashing from room to room, just because I could. Not that she didn't catch on fast. She's a great streaking partner -- she's always naked, after all. Probably, though, she would complain about the odd squeals that keep shooting out of me whenever I get the weird vibe that somebody might be peeking through the blinds.
Sadly, today it all ends. Son-in-law is flying in at 6-ish tonight, effectively putting the kabosh on all my wayward whims.
Oh, man! I'll have to go buy a new lamp too -- damn it! That means I have to go put on clothes earlier than I thought. Sorry, no more time for dillydallying. Until next time.
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Now for a hysterical story, head over to Midlife Musings. You will be ROFLYAO in about 30 seconds.
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Fire nipples
1 week ago
