Saturday, April 27, 2013

Money makes me horney!

The other day I was standing in line at the supermarket and there was this lady in front of me. About 60 or maybe a few years older. A rather normal woman in healthy shoes and jeans and a T-shirt. 
It looked a bit weird, the T-shirt, grey with pink ornaments. It took me a while to figure out that the pink ornaments where actually letters. Now, I think printing words on clothes is almost always a stupid idea. Because, dear clothes manufacturers, words are meant to be read. You can’t just print a word or several or even - whatsitcalled? Oh yes, a sentence! - on a T-shirt and expect people not to read them. So, you better think good before you go ahead and write random stuff on clothes.

Since queueing was a bit boring and I had some unused brain capacity left I started to decipher the letters. There where random letters and fragments but I could also read “Rich Bitch”, “Money makes me horney” (sic!), “Oh yeah” and “Diamonds are girls best friends” (sic!). 

I must say I was quite tempted. Quite tempted to tap the lady on the shoulder and ask her whether she knew what slogans she was sporting.
However, I pretty quickly realized that such an intervention was bound to go downhill in free fall because it would have had to be started like this:
Me: “Excuse me, but do you know what is written on your T-shirt?”
Lady in T-shirt, possible answer 1: “Sure, honey, it says that I’m a well off bitch, money makes me wanna fuck, oh yes and carbon based jewels are a young woman’s best companion.”

That, to be honest, would have been the nightmare version. The other one is only slightly better, though:

Lady in T-shirt, possible answer 2: “No, my dear, what does it say?”
Me: “It more or less says you’re a whore with spelling problems.”
Which I would have never said, of course. I’d have said “oh, well, nothing important, really.”

Words on a T-shirt: almost always a bad idea

But since this two conversations played in my head while I studied the words I never asked her the question.

However, I decided to pay attention the following day. This is what I saw printed on clothes, amongst (too many) other things:
No.1 Certificate College for Cuteness
Happy Girl Revolution
Sexy Love and Kisses
Get up for Music!
Baby Express Taxi Unlimited
I’m a Boy Scout, okay?
Smile like you never smiled before
Ski Right Inc.
Goodbye Hello my friend
Fun University Established

Then I had to stop and go to the nearest pharmacy. It was only 2 p.m. and I really needed 500 mg of Parecetamol to treat my headache. 

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

You’re merely the operative manager around here, thank you

Saturday morning my dear hubby and master went and bought three beds for The Girl Gang. Then he left for a stroll at the lake, taking the babes and leaving behind a note on the kitchen counter informing me that he’d bought the three beds.
Which I, upon coming home from buying groceries, found in a Tower-of-Pisa-esque pile on the landing. Roughly 700 boxes containing several gazillion parts and absolutely useless instructions. First I tried to ignore the boxes. Then I thought, ‘ha! I’m da woman in da house, there’s nothing I can’t achieve if I set my mind to it!’ 

For the next hour I did my very best not to set my mind to assemble those darn beds, but finally I gave in and started to screw, hammer, nail, tape and superglue them together. The first one I did nearly twice, but then I had it figured out. 
Dust-covered, sweaty and smelly I sat down on the patio with a cuppa tea and felt pretty good. Actually, I felt like the boss. Because, in my opinion, the person who nails, screws, superglues and spits together three beds in one afternoon is da boss.

Eventually my dear husband came home, handed me the two little ones and said that he was absolutely knackered after a whole day with them and it was my turn now.
Me: “Nope.”
Him: “Nope?”
Me: “Nope. It’s still your turn. I fixed those darn beds you just piled up on the landing. I’m knackereder than you are.”
Him: “Oh. Cool.” (I guess he was referring to the beds, not me being knackereder. Then again, I’m never quite sure.) He went upstairs, leaving me with the kidlets. “Whoa! Great! Good job! I thought I’d do it next time it rains.”
Me: “Uh huh ... Right …  I figured I’d do it before our daughters move out.” I made sure to keep my voice down. I’m a wimp like that. Well, almost. “Oh, by the way, as of today, I’m the boss around here.”
Him, still upstairs: “You are?”
Me: “Yes I am.” Doing my best to remain cool and calm while the twins engaged in a screeching catfight over who’s got the right to stand up with the help of our lounge table. There are four sides to that table so one would think it should be possible for them to use it both at the same time. But one would be completely wrong.
Him: “How come?”
Me: “I assembled three beds in one afternoon. That’s enough qualification for the job.”
He came down and grabbed me. Behind us, pandemonium. “You’re right, babe. You’re the boss. The operative manager. The CEO.” He paused. I swear I could feel the ‘but’. “Me, I’m still the chairman, though.”
Me: “Aha. What’s that mean?”
Him: “I tell you what to do, you do it.”  

Now that’s not exactly my idea of being the boss, but then he went on giving directives and they involved getting dinner fixed, the babes to bed and then putting the three brand spanking new beds to good use. 
Spanking being the key word, of course.

I think I can live with not being boss as long as the general strategies sound like the above.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Wanting to be a Guy and learning a Lesson

Wanting to be a Guy and learning a Lesson

I like being a woman. It’s so much better than being a man. At least I think so. It’s hard to really know since I only ever experienced being a woman. But if you think about multiple orgasms, not having to wear a boring suit all the time, multiple orgasms, enjoying a warm summer day sans culottes beneath your skirt and of course multiple orgasms it’s easy to see why being a woman beats being a guy by a mile.
Of course there’s those darn period cramps, but they’re easily made up for by, just to give an example, multiple orgasms.

However, every once in a while (but not too often) I’d like to be a man. Like last Saturday morning.

Quarter past five on a Saturday morning is the wrong time for the alarm to go off. Yet it did. Master quickly shut it up, but not before I was awake. Dragged my ass to the bathroom, peed, returned to the warm bed and snuggled up to him. Which is nice enough. Getting those precious minutes of sleep would have been nicer, though.
Swift and massive retribution for forgetting to turn off his alarm would have been called for. Alas, I’m not the Mistress around here and so my husband’s ass remained uncaned.
Instead, he started to fumble. I wasn’t in the mood, mostly because the night had been short and punctuated by interruptions and thus I was tired, but also because I expected one of the babes to wake up any second. However, he either didn’t want to notice or was still too sleepy himself to notice. 

Which, of course, is all besides the point that my willingness to fuck or be fucked doesn’t necessarily have to enter the equation. 
Anyway, “Der Hunger kommt mit dem Essen”, as the saying goes and, true enough, pretty soon I found myself getting in the mood.

It would have been pretty much perfect if the kids had slept for, say, another 10 or 15 minutes. Of course they didn’t. I heard first one, then two start to babble and - poof! - gone was my mood. Not that I think it’s necessary to get up and hurry to their bedroom. After all, instant gratification isn’t a concept we want to teach them. But I just couldn’t help listening for changes in the sound of their babbling. 
So, no multiple orgasm. Not for me, anyway. Nor for my master, which didn’t come as a surprise since he’s a guy (mwahahaha!). But, and I really envied him for that ability, he obviously wasn’t bothered by the babes in the least. While my mood was gone in a flash.  

And that, to be honest, is pretty cool. To be able to enjoy to fuck despite your spawn preparing itself for major pandemonium. I wish I could do that, too. But I guess it takes a guy. 

On Sunday we went for a long walk across the hill into town to meet my brother. One hour after we left, in the middle of the forest (it had snowed in the night and thus it was really beautiful. There was even some sun for a change) hubby mentioned that all three girls were fast asleep. 
Him: “They’re fast asleep.” *raising eyebrows suggestively*
Me, looking around, seeing nothing but trees and snow and thinking of my ass being frozen solid. “Here? Now?”
“Nah, I though we waited till we arrive at your brothers and ask him whether we could use their bed. Duh!”
“But …”
“Hush now and spread ‘em. Mwahaha.”

This time the girls stayed fast asleep. And I learned that one should never miss out on a chance for a quickie, even if it means a cold butt.