I have been having no luck lately with the sex. Aside from the lack of interest (which I am convinced is because I am so preoccupied with the move), my vibrator caught on fire a couple months ago. Or at least it started smoking and melting. It no longer works.
I don't know what went wrong, but we were in the middle of some good stuff, and I was like, "Yeah. Yeah. Unhh. Unhh. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh FUCK! STOP. What's that smell?
Jethro: "You don't smell that bad. Quit worrying about it. Just keep going."
Zelda: "No, fool. Something is on fire."
Jethro: "Yeah, baby. You're smokin'"
Zelda: "Wow. Thanks. You're fuckin' huge.
Jethro: "No, I think it's the battery compartment."
Zelda: "The battery compartment isn't that big. And it's kind of squared off and sharp. Oh, you mean it's on fire."
It was, in fact, the battery compartment. I think the batteries melted to the inside. It will never be the same.
And yesterday afternoon, I was suffering (and I mean suffering) from a caffeine high. I am quite susceptible to caffeine. One cup of coffee makes me slightly insane. A large Starbucks Iced Mocha Latte makes me seizurey. During a brief moment of lucidity, I thought I'd ask Jethro to gimme a little in hopes that it would dissipate.
Let's just say that yelling "faster" when you're on a caffeine high doesn't mean the same thing as yelling faster when you are not. I only felt my demands had been met once poor Jethro had reached the previous speed of my now-melted vibrator. It didn't do much to bring me down, but it was fun. I just hope Jethro didn't give himself Shaken Baby Syndrome.