She came slidin’ on down the alleyway like butter drippin’ off a hot biscuit
1) The lovely and fascinating Rob Helpy-Chalk once defined my husband and me as “The Couple That Blogs About Their Sex Life”. Which we used to be. But now Sergei is off on other things, and I can’t think of anything sexy to say, at least not right now, not on a Monday, when I’m exhausted from the weekend and can think of nothing better than crawling back in bed and sleeping for 20 straight hours.
2) Except. The sex thing. I find myself entertaining Fantasy Boyfriend Thoughts about random blokes on the telly. Lately it’s been Gordon Ramsay, he of “Hell’s Kitchen” (Finale TONIGHT), he who swears like ten sailors and has a face like a map of the Rockies. He can be a real arse, but when he’s nice, he’s charming, and when he takes his shirt off you can see the fitness there, and that makes me all gooshy. Him bending me over a kitchen sink, the pots rattling on the stove, the smell of garlic and olive oil and sex mingling...gimme a minute to finish this fantasy, please.
3) Okay. Back. Done. Need a cigarette and a spongebath.
4) Tomorrow morning I see the ‘eyelid specialist’ and just in time…my leaky eyeball is threatening mutiny any second, the inhospitable socket unbearable. I’m not even gonna freak out if he comes at me with a needle mumbling the ‘biopsy’ word…dammit, just git it over with. Bring it on, Bubba!
5) Maybe Gordon in the walk-in-cooler, on the crates of lettuce and onions…uh-oh, fantasy not yet over. Better go….