Pretty little dumplings all in a row
Oh my dears, I have no pics for you. How can I show you what I wanted to show you on the way home tonight?
The lit-up skylines, like row after row of angular Xmas trees. The Goldfrapp song leaking out of my head where my iPod had placed it, apparently very firmly, earlier today. The piles of dim sum making (admittedly) uncomfortable cargo in my stomach.
The inevitable flitter of my innards as I flirted but tried not to be noticeably flirting. The regrets at not having managed to forcibly commandeer That Boy for my diabolical purposes on some previous evening. Maybe I should have played rougher.
The champagne bubbles of amusement at the text messages exchanged earlier with Blondie. Me: Dude, you said this is my girlfriend just in time. I might have kissed u. He: Her first words were did u sleep with her?
Hahahahahaaaa. Why yes, love, I did. About a thousand times in three months. Why do you ask?
Oh wait, that would be my answer.
So, my Big Question to the Universe is:
Why is it so frickin' difficult to find a suitable lover to play with? Hot enough and sweet enough and free enough and not interested in getting in my face about my choices in life.
It doesn't seem like such a tall order. Heck, I like 'em short, too. Or not short. Whatever.
Of course, the list of requirements is a bit more involved than that. But not so very. I don't care if he's married, really. I don't care if he's a bit of an idiot when it comes to women. Actually those conditions (or lack thereof) are specific to a particular candidate who shall remain nameless but who is still lighting me up like an airport runway whenever I see him and frustrating the hell out of me when I don't (and when I do, really).
Honestly, darlings, I would have been glad to "settle" for a little romp with Blondie, had he been available, and it's slightly tragic that he's not, because nothing less would be a worthy distraction, and he's only worthy because he happens to be made of candy.
Okay, I know. No pictures are adequate.
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