Losing my Marbles

Help me...

This is bbaadd. 

Really horrid. 

I'm in trouble now. 

Last weekend, I took the guy in the basement to the dirty shop. 

Don't ask why I chose to marry him...I won't tell.  Let's just say that the Christian boys weren't near as much fun. 

Now, I learned early on that one needs a male escort in the seediest of shops.  I went to one in the scary side of town only to discover from the clerk that the reason the guys were following me around was that I was the first woman in there in over a decade. 

That couldn't have been true.  I went there five years previously and saw my baby sister behind the glass.  I wasn't too happy about that.  She was fourteen at the time. 

The seedy shop didn't have what I needed. 

He knew where to go.  They actually have fluffy bunny pervert shops now. 

And, you know, I could find half my wardrobe there.  I never buy any of my clothes in those shops but after realizing that I own almost half of the boots and shoes they sell there, I realized something.

I dress like a stripper. 

How did I find myself with him in a dirty shop with some boring name that should be the name of a birthday card/gift shop?

Well...It started with a rant about the real reason women hate the new airport naked body scanners.  These are reasons that women on facebook, with their high school sweetheart, ex-hubby, estranged hubby, auntie, daughters, political advisors, former psychotherapy professors, and reporters watching them cannot share.  

Okay, I don't fear them.  I really don't want those idiots that I've rejected to re-pique their curiousity.

There are secrets that we women need to keep. 

Those stupid body scanners reveal a tad bit too much. 

Some of us aren't afraid of our guns tripping the sensors. 
In the old days, you could wear stainless steel and no one knew.  Now?  You'll set off alarms at the school, the library, the grocery store and the airport. 

And, then, how does one explain the chime sounds?  I used to wear belly dancer anklets as a quick cover.

I try to avoid such things but, last weekend, I realized that I needed exercise equipment because after nearly four years, I'm terrified I'm going to atrophy. 

Of course, they didn't have what I wanted. 

They were too big.  Or too unsanitary.  Or impossible to clean. 

I did find a hot little straight-jacket though. 

I always wanted one of those. 

Thank goodness for the internet.

Well....they're here. 

He's curious about them. 

So...I let him see them. 

They got stuck. 

He offered to remove them.   

That was a mistake. 

We're still married...so...maybe...this could save us the $3,000 legal tab.

Maybe....

Maybe....

Oh...he was really happy. 

He was really hot under the collar. 

I told him he reminded me of a children's touchy feely book....

hot,

smooth,

bumpy,


scruffy,


soft,

hard...

He laughed. 

Now, when he babysits the grand baby he'll be grinning like a banshee. 

I made a mistake. 

He's gained more weight. 

I am so damn disappointed. 

I always prided myself on my ability to be creative. 

I can't fathom how to do that. 

Don't ask me what. 

Just know....I can't figure out how to do that. 

I tried an electronic gizmo made for a man, one I picked up during our field trip.  That just made him numb. 

Those things are obnoxious.  If we were meant to rely on batteries, we'd be robots. 

It's not worth the nerve damage. 

I'm upset with myself. 

I can't do it. 

I just don't know....

He's promised to go on a crash diet. 

Damn.....

He needs to find someone that he loves to share with his ding dong more than Ding Dongs. 

Maybe I wore him out the first sixteen years of our relationship.  An extra 350+ pounds hanging off one's frame is a good way to put distance between a man and a sex addict. 

That's what my high school sweetie called me...a slut and a sex addict.  He doesn't understand, I'm an introvert...it takes us a long time to get to know someone enough to have them see our tan lines.  How long does he think I was checking him out before I even spoke to him? 

It was well over a year. 

The next guy had to threaten me after six months of dating.  I wouldn't let him see my stuff, he was pissed.  I learned that diamond rings mean that he wants to see things.  Oooh...

My first husband wanted to marry his mistress because she wanted less sex.  We were together for over four years but were married for only eighteen months.  After the divorce, he wanted to make me his mistress.  Oh, lordy....I lied to that man.  I dated bikers.  I was a lesbian.  I told him lots of stuff to keep his junk away from me.  He quit coming 'round in '04 when I told his wife. 

Ha!! 

This guy.  I've known him forever.  Don't ask him how many years it took for me to tickle him, let alone get playful. 

I'm hardly a slut. 

Sex addict? 

Well, if I'm one.  I suck at it. 
I can't figure out how to do the most basic thing on the planet. 

I feel like a failure. 

It's my fault somehow. 

If I were prettier, thinner, younger looking, and tighter than a Chinese finger trap maybe he'd eat more salad. 

Maybe if I ate more protein shakes. 

Actually, I stopped doing that when I couldn't access the spigot anymore. 

When the fun stopped, I ran around joking that I was a vegan. 

No one gets that joke. 

Okay, truth is, I'd rather have salad.  It's a little something I picked up from being married to a rancher for eighteen months.  I'd name the animals.  He'd slaughter them and tell me who we were eating.  He'd play coy about it and claim he did it to make me happy because he knew I took a liking to the animal carved up in the freezer. 

That's probably why he never let me have a taste.  He was probably afraid I'd want it carved up and put in the freezer.  He sure missed out. 
Yeah....

So...


I tell everyone I love ToFU. 

And many men offer to take me to lunch to buy me tofu.  If they only knew....

Damn....

So...

After the incident I hugged him for a couple of hours. 

He's still my friend. 
I probably ought to stay until he loses the weight.  It'll probably take a year or two or three. 

On the bright side, I think I overcame my sex addiction. 

Yea Me!!

Not really...now I need a new exercise regimen.  I'm now down to a size ten but I've got a closet full of size eight clothes that I really miss wearing. 

I was so skinny!! 

I miss having a workout buddy. 

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Sadly, I figured out that I have the perfect anti-TSA naked body scanner argument for my Republicrat buddies who want women to stay in abusive dead marriages while sharing their junk with the world at an airport... 

Look...

You think we are sex objects.

We need to use metal to be sanitary, worthwhile sex objects that men won't leave for younger models.  When mean do that, they end up leaving us older, loose, saggy things on welfare.  You don't like having women on welfare. 

Let us take responsibility for keeping the men happy.  Since you think we should not be in the workplace but barefoot and pregnant...let us at least have a shot at getting him close enough to the shooting range to help your freakin' pro-life cause. 

Let us wear our chimey things at airports without airing the fact that we use them to any stupid security guard with an IQ of 80. 

The older I get, the more of those things I've got to do, ya know. 

Hmmmmm.....

Do you think that will fly?

Nope..

And, do you know what? 

Neither will I.