“Barry,” my cousin Mike said, “I think it’s time.” It was clear that my brother didn’t feel the same way, but he only shrugged, which Mike took as agreement. “Dave,” he said, giving the words as much gravity as he could muster, “Go get the dictionary.” I was nine years old, and a tag-along. I’d walked in on my brother telling a story about how—during school that morning—a girl he knew got her period in the middle of French class. And I laughed like the dickens. And then they called me on it. After I’d lugged the dictionary down from the spare room, Mike told me to look up the word period and read out the definition. “The end of a cycle, a series of events, or a single action?” “Keep going,” he said. “The full pause with which a sentence closes?” “Not that.” “An interval of geologic—“ “Gimme that!” He yanked the book towards him, read down the page, and pointed me towards the definition he’d found. Menstruation: the monthly discharge of blood from the uterus of nonpregnant women from pu...
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Then I use the Nora Roberts novels as fuel to cook and eat the Hobos.
It is the least wasteful thing I do.
My other guilty pleasure is to come up with underwear designs for Kris so she can constantly misplace them.
And no, I don't think that I can.
Jason tried to find the flyer with "me" in it, but the one we got here in Cornwall was reportedly
"full of Asians" some of whom were quite cute, but definitely not me, even if I squinted a lot.
The Source girl would be your slighly uglier sister, Jay.
:)
I hope that others enjoy being in the online lovahs den with us.
Dave et al,
My current guilty pleasures include expensive toiletries for the cat, scented Lysol, and gold rims for my '96 Sentra. No?
Belee'dat!