So I am lying here in bed, pantsless, knees apart, typing on the laptop, listening to Jethro frustratedly try to help a completely unwilling Gwennie with her homework, after a series of events that are somewhat unbelievable even as I lie here in some pain.
I was depillitating myself (and that's not half as sexy as it might sound. I really should just go ahead and shell out the $35 for a Brazillian, but I'm cheap and addicted to mess and inconvenience) when Gwennie opened the door to my bedroom. She had resisted my help with her homework until the minute I was indisposed. I hollered at her to get out, and she threw one of her patented little hissyfits which aggravated me somewhat. I had called Jethro to see if he was on his way home from work, so I could go ahead and get started on my beautification (de-revolt-ification) processes. He was on his way, but hadn't quite arrived.
I'd managed to get Gwennie to exit my bedroom after threatening to make Armageddon look like a circus parade, and with only a minimal amount of cream having dropped onto my clit, when the doorbell rang.
I heard Gwennie and Emma stupidly unlocking the deadbolt without asking who was there first, so I threw on my bathrobe and bolted into the living room. Naturally, it was only Jethro carrying the mail, but one can't be too careful. However, I am wondering whether it was really worth the snatch full of burning I received moments later, which has continued on through the evening.
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3 comments:
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow and OW! Not possessing girlie bits, I can only compare this to the time I was chopping up habanero peppers for salsa and decided that I really needed a pee break. To bad I washed my hands AFTER I went. Curiously enough, as painfully hot as it was, it was also vaguely stimulating and I spent the better part of the afternoon with a bit of a chubbie.
Was that TMI?
Totally! But that is hilarious. However, I will assure you I did not find it stimulating in the least.
After a meager 5 years of parenting, I'm starting to learn that children have an inborn sense of when would be the single worst time to decide they need you RIGHT NOW.
Or... it might just seem that way. My sympathies either way, given that I'm far too wussy to even consider this sort of thing.
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