So I’m having lunch with my two girlfriends from the university.
Keep in mind that they’re in their early 20s, and well…I’m not.
One of them, we’ll call her Looks-Like-a-Fricken-Model, starts telling us that her boyfriend has been upset with her.
Cue Older-Wiser-Woman ~that’d be me~ with her infinite wisdom and snappy retorts: “Just send him another picture of your boobs, he’ll get over it.”
My other friend, we’ll call her Lil’ Sex Kitten, says, “ANOTHER picture? You mean you’ve already sent him one?”
Looks-Like-a-Fricken-Model shoots me that “You bitch!” look, but replies, “Well, yeah. But just from the waist up.”
To which I reply, “I still think you should send him a cute little coochie shot. Just cross your legs so it’s not all ‘spread eagle’. It would be very tasteful, AND you’d have him eating out of the palm of your hand.”
Lil’ Sex Kitten is laughing, but her cheeks are flaming red, and she admits, “I could never do that. I’m such a prude when it comes to stuff like that.”
She admits, “I do own a cute little negligee, and I’ll prance around my boyfriend while I’m wearing it, but then he’s like, “Come over here and give me a lap dance,” and I’m so embarrassed.”
So Older-Wiser-Woman says, “Just give the man a lap dance. It’s not a big deal.”
Lil’ Sex Kitten is squealing, “It is a big deal!!!”
I say, “No it’s not. You don’t even need music. Just sit in his lap and wiggle…like you’d do if you were repositioning yourself in a chair.”
Lil’ Sex Kitten is actually contemplating this.
I love it when they listen to me.
The funny thing is, I come off as this sexy, knowledgeable woman with a repertoire of sex tricks, and meanwhile, I wouldn’t follow any of my advice.
I don’t even own lingerie.
THIS is my lingerie, circa 1984.
I don’t know if you can see, but there is only one button left.
The others were not ripped off in a frenzy of passion.
As for undergarments, I do own g-strings.
But I don’t wear them.
I’d rather wedge a shoe in my vagina.
This is my underwear.
And they’re super comfortable.
The other day my seven year old went into one of my dressers to look for the chocolate I had hidden in there.
He came downstairs waving this, asking, “Is this a new remote for the Wii?”
My reply, “Nope. It’s an old-fashioned hand mixer. I completely forgot I owned that.”
I did completely forget I owned that.
And it’s never been used so it probably could be handy as some kind of kitchen appliance.
The thing is though, it would probably be toxic.
Notice the grey strip above the Wii handle?
That’s where the 15 year old batteries have leaked acid.
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