Well...
...hanging out with my daughter can be rather dangerous in a weird sort of way. While fixing my hair yesterday, I grabbed my kid's hair spray, aimed it at my head and pushed the button. The left half of my head was covered with a creamy substance that reminded me of an Italian dude I dated in Gogia. It was funny, it didn't matter what the position du jour was, that guy always ended up getting a giant blob of love juice in my hair. My hair is long, but it's not long enough to justify that much cum in it. Obviously, I did NOT grab the hair spray.
Then I picked up some Burt's Bees lip gloss and applied it to my lips. I got my entire lower lip and half of my upper lip before I realized that it wasn't Burt's Bees lip gloss...it was Bert's Bees Blemish Fighter that came in a small roll top bottle like a lot of lip glosses. I thought I tasted anise but it turned out to be fennel. That took a while de-smellify.
Now my daughter wants me to get a tattoo. At my age the only appropriate tattoo would be a Slinky. Then, no matter how much I sag, it will still look like a Slinky, it'll just be a stretched out Slinky. Even if it gets all distorted when I'm 80...it'll just look like most Slinky's look after a few years. Annie doesn't like the Slinky idea so we're at a stand still over the tattoo.
I can't believe that I've gone for over 50 years without feeling the need to get a tattoo and now I'm actually considering it. I'd get it somewhere that would only be seen if I wanted it to be seen...but definitely no tramp stamps. I don't like the idea of some dude staring at my lower back while his mind should be on me.
Anyway, tattoos are not emergencies...I can always worry about that later. Right now I'm worrying about the hideous pain in my side. I'm trying to avoid the hospital and wishing that there was a home morphine delivery service. My daughter thinks I should go to the ER but when SHE goes, she gets a prescription and a nice "How de do!" and then on her way she goes. She's a lot younger than I am and I have enough other medical crap going on to get myself admitted. If I'm not on the payroll, I don't like hospitals very much.
Well, I feel the need to go back and lie on the floor...it's the closest I can get to comfortable. Have a good evening!!!
...hanging out with my daughter can be rather dangerous in a weird sort of way. While fixing my hair yesterday, I grabbed my kid's hair spray, aimed it at my head and pushed the button. The left half of my head was covered with a creamy substance that reminded me of an Italian dude I dated in Gogia. It was funny, it didn't matter what the position du jour was, that guy always ended up getting a giant blob of love juice in my hair. My hair is long, but it's not long enough to justify that much cum in it. Obviously, I did NOT grab the hair spray.
Then I picked up some Burt's Bees lip gloss and applied it to my lips. I got my entire lower lip and half of my upper lip before I realized that it wasn't Burt's Bees lip gloss...it was Bert's Bees Blemish Fighter that came in a small roll top bottle like a lot of lip glosses. I thought I tasted anise but it turned out to be fennel. That took a while de-smellify.
Now my daughter wants me to get a tattoo. At my age the only appropriate tattoo would be a Slinky. Then, no matter how much I sag, it will still look like a Slinky, it'll just be a stretched out Slinky. Even if it gets all distorted when I'm 80...it'll just look like most Slinky's look after a few years. Annie doesn't like the Slinky idea so we're at a stand still over the tattoo.
I can't believe that I've gone for over 50 years without feeling the need to get a tattoo and now I'm actually considering it. I'd get it somewhere that would only be seen if I wanted it to be seen...but definitely no tramp stamps. I don't like the idea of some dude staring at my lower back while his mind should be on me.
Anyway, tattoos are not emergencies...I can always worry about that later. Right now I'm worrying about the hideous pain in my side. I'm trying to avoid the hospital and wishing that there was a home morphine delivery service. My daughter thinks I should go to the ER but when SHE goes, she gets a prescription and a nice "How de do!" and then on her way she goes. She's a lot younger than I am and I have enough other medical crap going on to get myself admitted. If I'm not on the payroll, I don't like hospitals very much.
Well, I feel the need to go back and lie on the floor...it's the closest I can get to comfortable. Have a good evening!!!
posted by Meg Kelso | 2:07 PM
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