Saturday 15 January 2011

The dynamics of the housewife and her electrical goods

Felt pretty glum and sorry for myself today. I had operation pre-work sexy time all planned out. I set my alarm for 8:45, this would allow foreplay to occur until 9am, the main feature until 9:15, and then the complimentary after party would occur until 9:30am. A well rounded and carefully constructed sexual agenda. I would then have an hour to consume a delicious breakfast and take a hot shower, then arrive at work on time.
It seems to be however, that this fate was not meant for moi. I tapped the male concerned on the shoulder and presented him with the proposition. What was the reply I got? "I'm too tired". Your'e too tired? What kind of fucking excuse is that? It sounds like a 1930s housewife being hounded by her oversexed husband. At least she'd drop her knickers like a good girl without her partner having to cause too much of a fuss. "Give it half an hour" he added with a mout)h full of duvet The wife wouldn't demand half an hour, you hadn't even spent all night basting turkeys with phallic objects all night, or what ever it is that those wifey type people do. Half an hour was reasonable; relatively feasible within the wider spectrum of my allotted time frames.  It would cause some difficulty in the breakfast and washing departments, but we could reach some agreement for that.
After waiting precisely thirty minutes, I reminded him of our plan. Yet, he declined once more, despite the definite deal we had previously struck. It's just not right. Men pester women for sex, primarily by humping the female's thigh until he relents. I would not be reduced to dry humping any of his body parts, not even his hands. It's practically an unwritten rule; long term relationships come with the premise of a readily available, easily acquired source of intercourse , of course this means that sometimes it must be no frills. Otherwise without this guarantee, what's the point?
So, I arrived at work, sexless and frustrated. As a result Imade myself a luxury chocca mocha, in order to cheer myself up. I am now however, writing this blog from my white porcelain throne. The milk it seems, as I later discovered was out of date, two months and four days out of date, inf act. Serves me right for not cleaning and clearing out the fridge since July.
To make matters a great deal worse, perhaps around eighty per cent worse, i have ran out of my personal supply of poo poo paper, and the arse who used the ast of the communal roll has failed to replace it. Any other time I would simply strip, enter the shower amd quickly hose any remaining substance from the areas. The issue is that I still have my laptop with me, water and electric articles are not keen friends... This presents me with the following dilemmas... a) either I toddle naked from the waist down to secure the laptop or b) I skulk with the company of undergarments,which would undoubtedly  collect any debris/excess that may be hanging around up there. My decision is that I will sit here for a little while longer and debate the matter some more. I;ve also just realised, from the toilet, my feet don't touch the floor.

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