Misadventures of a Bored Hypnotist

I am realizing that I experiment far too much on myself.

It's not a good idea to hypnotize yourself to feel happy when you see a certain color. If you do that, it's not a good idea to tell anyone else about it, especially when it is a member of the opposite sex.

You see, I was depressed and a friend took me to a coffee shop and sat me in front of four paintings, two of which were the color that makes me in incredibly happy.

No problem. Well, kinda....I told myself that I would think of a memory that would remind me of the happiest time of my life upon seeing this color and that memory involved this particular friend. I guess that is not so bad.

To be completely honest, I'm not sure if he brought me to that place on purpose or if I have a subconscious attraction to this color based on my reaction to it. But, I did find myself very happy to be at that particular spot with this particular friend.

Well, the problem was, you see...that when I was a lonely Hypnotist Housewife I, um, hypnotized myself to do have an unbelievable surge of endorphins on seeing a certain flower of another color. On seeing a flowers of a particular color I was going to experience the strongest, leg shaking euphoric sing song feeling in the world.

Oooh yeah.

The suggestion worked, so much so, that my entire bedroom was filled with silk flowers this particular color.

Getting back to the coffee shop, can you guess what the other two paintings were?

Yep, flowers of that particular color.

So, I found myself sitting in that hard wooden chair squirming, sweating, and doing my best to shake the flowing energy out of my legs while keeping my voice mute as my old friend was telling me how hot I was back in the day.

Not good.

Last week, I went back to that coffee shop with my estranged husband. We spent the evening trying to support friends who just bought a bar and I had a little too much ale. Coffee is the cure-all, so I found myself sitting in the exact same spot looking at those paintings, again.

And yeah, the inappropriate feelings came back up.

My spouse told me that it was "hot" watching me drink my coffee.

Okay, I realized that I had heard the word "hot" for two consecutive visits in that particular coffee shop. I had to ask why.

I was informed that I was stroking the coffee cup and twirling my tongue around the straw. He said that I looked like I was in heaven and he wanted to join me.

Men smell arousal, don't they? They can sense a party in one's.....hmmmm.....second chakra. Sexual energy must be catching, like a cold or the flu or something.

If a man has received an ongoing invitation to said party and never shows up - the day will come when he will not get another invite. I do not care how I drink my latte. I was not trying to flirt or send mixed messages. It was not me...it was the paintings...or the one armed man. I will blame the sky.....the moon....the ale......anything except myself and my poorly thought out hypnotic commands of my youth......yeah, yeah, that's the ticket.

Okay, I've only got myself to blame. I made a bad choice one day when my blood wasn't quite flowing in my brain and now I'm having to deal with the consequences, for better or worse.

I am debating the idea of getting rid of those commands by visualizing a big old delete button in my mind. I am not sure, though. Doesn't everyone want to have one place that they know they could go to ooze sexual energy?

Hmmm...maybe I will try to buy the paintings! They could come in handy someday!