Yesterday was the last hot day of the year. Mr. Wonderful and I went for a walk. It was still 85 degrees at 10 p.m.
I got a little hot. And sweaty.
He told me I smelled like a trucker.
Ha ha, that’s funny.
And then? And then he asked, “Will you humor me and take a shower?”
And he didn’t mean it in a pervy, hey-babee-yur-hot sort of way, either.
Are you fucking serious? Seriously? Seriously.
If I smell that bad, dontcha think that just maybe I will take a shower of my own volition? Have you noticed at any time during the last four months that I occasionally practice sound personal hygiene?
I called him on it. I repeated to him, verbatim, exactly what he said to me. And then? And then, he fell down laughing. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that.
I took that as a good sign. And then?
And then, I informed him that I would exact my revenge by blogging about his mad boyfriending skillz.
Hi, honey. You suck. But what sort of crack whore am I to be head over heels for you – not in spite of your suckage, but because of it?