Well I NEVER…
Mix whiskey and wine.
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You say, “slut.”
But the placard they all have to sweep off of my desk before taking me on top of it reads:
Sexual Anthropologist.
Gold emboss don’t lie, yo.
Trust.
Morning would.
“Did I have SEX?!”
“Nooo,” my neighbor began to laugh, “do you have snacks?”
“Ohhh,” I looked down at the two Cheesecake Factory boxes I had set down on my stoop so I could lock my front door. “Ha! Yes.”
Shaking her head, “Monday morning and already your brain goes right there…”
Goes there? Oh girl – would that it ever left.
Promiscuity on ice.
Moving your Grindr app from the home screen to the third page of your iPhone…
SO the sexual, technological equivalent of freezing your credit card in a block of ice and burying it beneath a stack of Thin Mints at the back of your Kenmore Elite.
You know that at some point you’re going to need-slash-want to use it again; but until desperation strikes, diminishing the ease of use is going to help you stick to a budget –
Or a man. One man. Exclusively.
Good luck. And remember: all of your downloads need not go to waste.
In fact, the more you get to know the person you’re fucking, the greater the likelihood that they will agree to explore your desire to pull up the Lightsaber app and engage in a bit of intergalactic roleplay.
Plus – it’s free at the apple store. Win-win, you thrifty supah freak.
