TMI

In my world, if you and I become friends, I make you sign a contract that clearly states that nothing that comes out of my mouth is EVER TMI.  It covers MY ass and it saves you the embarrassment of thinking that I am CLEARLY off my rocker at times.  Because let's face it...sometimes I walk a VERY fine line!

I understand that not all of you reading this have taken the time to read the fine print.   So, I will allow you to jump ship at anytime our delicate blogger/bloggee relationship gets too...um...buddy-buddy...and...intimate for your less than prurient sensibilities. (so, I'm a few months late issuing this escape hatch...oops!)

The phrase "Let me slip into something more comfortable" came up in conversation the other day, believe it or not.  I was talking to a male friend of mine and he created (NOT for us, for pete's sake) this Fabio-on-the-cover-romance-novel-worthy-scenerio complete with bearskin rug, rose petals, strawberries and champagne (with the leading lady whispering the aforementioned phrase...) and while I was impressed at his attempt to describe his version of a seduction scene (that didn't involve beer, a TV remote and a Hawks game), I had to chuckle.  Something more comfortable?  Like other then my "I ♥ My Boys" t-shirt and yoga pants??  Oh, you mean I need to shed my comfy clothes and put on that latex corset with the thong panties and 5 inch hooker boots?  I'm right on that.  And last I heard, the Cubs were gonna win the World Series.

Let me tell you how it goes at my house.   Text:  Be over in 10.  Me:  K.  {for those of you playing along at home, that was foreplay}  10 minutes later: front door opens, followed by complete silence punctuated briefly by the groans of attempting to get out of my skinny jeans and a shriek as my foot steps on a Power Ranger Apezord (DO NOT call it a Monkeyzord).  13.385 minutes later:  complete silence after the front door is shut and re-locked.  15 minutes later:  groan of satisfaction as I plop on the couch in my holey AC/DC shirt and NU sweats.  15.8965 minutes later:  lost in the fascination that is prime time television.

What?  You think I can make this stuff up???

Yes, yes I can.  The rooms of my house have seen less action then Bernie Madoff's wife. I'd be in a world of hurt if it weren't for my imagination. (And the Energizer bunny.)

But let's pretend there is a moral, a lesson to be learned from my imaginative tale.  Should you ever get that "K" text from me (hypothetically, of course) you better come prepared with pliers.  I don't wear these jeans just because they make my legs look good; they're my something more comfortable.