fifth third second tenth bank
CRAY. ZEE. PERSON.
The other day I was doing something at the sink while Nora showered the post-karate sweat off of her tiny muscular body, and she yelled “Hey! Have you ever done push-ups in the shower?”
No. No I have not.
“You should! It’s AWESOME!”
I peeked around the curtain and sure enough, military-style push-ups in the steaming hot spray. Nora will do calisthenics anytime, anywhere. She also loves hot tubs, saunas, plunging into cold water, sleeping naked on my mom’s heated bed with the settings all the way up to “broil,” deep massages, getting slathered with lotion, and serious loofah exfoliation. Is she part Spartan?
FUNNY
This is the funniest anal examination story I have ever read. Yes I know, that’s a pretty low bar. But still.
NOT FUNNY
After sex, LT stereotypically asleep and me wide awake, feeling a weird ache in my left leg (not sex-related, as far as I could remember) and obsessing about blood clots. In fact, I spent close to an hour fretting and worrying about blood clots. Ooooh, even just typing the words makes my leg start to ache. Which is probably a clue that all this blood clot anxiety is purely psychological. Dying suddenly is one of my greatest fears now, as opposed to when I was childless and actually goth-daydreamed about different ways I could romantically meet my demise.
When it was finally morning I went to work, all tired from not dying of a blood clot, and had one of those weird days where you feel invisible. People bumped into me and barely excused themselves. I made a suggestion in a work email and five rounds later someone made the same suggestion, with much hoopla and praise. Yeah I know it’s a great idea, that’s why I said it. FIRST. If life were an episode of Twilight Zone, it would turn out that I really did die of a blood clot and my purgatory was a daily public-transit commute to a mid-level management position at a publishing company. Hey, it’s Rod Serling blowing secondhand smoke in my face! Ahhhh!
NO ONE WANTS THIS
I don’t remember much about this dream, but there was a box on a shelf with this label
FOOD THAT WILL
GIVE ORGASMS TO
THE HOWLER MONKEY
With those line breaks and everything. Was it for sale? Was it just on a shelf in a zoo storage area? I do not know.
YULE “LOG”
‘Tis the season for Christmas-related scrotal jokes! I have been having fun with “Santa’s sack.” His sack is bigger than yours! I also enjoy affecting a Borat-style accent and pretending that I am at an office party and do not understand the meaning of “grab bag.” Grab bag? Is this some kind of scrotum-seizing ritual? Okay, I will grab your bag! As they say in America!
—mimi smartypants brings you some figgy pudding.