Having spent the day tirelessly and patiently collecting beer cans and preparing potato salads for an all-male drink-fest at our new abode, I was feeling pretty much over boys, beer and being a domestic goddess. It's rare for me to so much as sniff alcohol and not become an active, table-dancing drinking participant. More rare for me to clean up after anyone - including myself. A trail of clothing, shoes, handbags, keys leads directly to my bedroom any day of the week. Robbers - you know exactly where to go. Rapists, feel free: it's been about 3 weeks since my last shag.
After throwing my hideously drunk Mummy's Boy into the shower, I was horrified to glance over my shoulder (in a mirror of course - where else would one be on a Saturday afternoon but in front of a mirror, examining one's pores?) and see a monster.
First, I saw his butt. Two slices of prime beef, with a hefty slathering of hair perkily pointed in my direction. I briefly thought "I've had enough arseholes for one day, thanks." The thought died in the neuron receptors, as they processed the vision of a white towel, folded in half and very neatly nestled beneath the monstrously hairy arse cheeks of my apparently adult lover. Legs akimbo and pulled up to his chest, I stared in horror at the heartbreakingly child-like expression on his face.
"Change me" he whimpered, as he clutched at his toes.
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