THE PANIC LIAR
David sucks at stopping conversations. When he has the opportunity to make a declarative statement that will allow him to be able to walk away? He can’t do it…
David sucks at stopping conversations. When he has the opportunity to make a declarative statement that will allow him to be able to walk away? He can’t do it…
“Do you think we can take tasteful pictures of my breasts?” David perks up. “Most certainly.” “For public consumption?” “Pardon?” “You know, for my blog…” “Ummmmm…” His mouth opens and closes. “Don’t get me wrong. I am ALL for your breasts being on display. But… why do you want to have tasteful breast pictures on…
“Don’t shave them DRY!!” I gasp, horrified. “Ah, but my pits are youthful, Mama…” “Oh, I get it, and my pits are elderly, decrepit, crabby pits?” She shrugs and shaves her own dry armpits. “You’ve got to watch out for them though,” I say. “The hair in the elderly, decrepit, crabby pits is so strong…
WARNING: Feminine issues discussed “Are you FREAKING kidding me?” “What? What is it?” David looks into the bathroom from the hallway. He finds me on the toilet, scowling downward. I shoot him a look. “Seriously?” he asks. “Didn’t you just…?” “Yes. Yes I DID just… It’s been almost two full weeks – off and on.”…
“Are you done with this?” asks David as he holds up the scrubby sponge. “I am, thanks. If you wouldn’t mind putting it away.” He looks around all confuseled. “You don’t know where it lives, do you?” I ask. “Sure I do,” he says – gesticulating wildly – a vain attempt to distract from his…
… when you’re in the midst of peri-menopause? They tell you about the sleep disturbances, the night sweats – all that great stuff – they don’t tell you that your dreamscape will be a cross between Terry Gilliam and Wes Anderson. Last night, Inigo Montoya was waxing my bikini line before he replaced my kneecaps…