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2002-04-11 - 5:24 a.m.
Yesterday at work I was talking about Diaryland. I told the girls that I had written a couple things pertaining to them, like the pizza scissor story and the embarrassing things that have happened to us while waiting on tables. And then they started on me, "Did you tell the spoon story?" Jennifer asked. When I told her I hadn't she stamped her foot, "Did you tell the phone story, the underwear story, did you at least tell the CORN story?" Again I told her no. "How 'bout the whipped cream story?" And ahhhh...the whipped cream story. I had forgotten about the whipped cream story. And here it is. My ex-boyfriend and I had a good relationship. Actually, we were so good together because we were more like just best friends. Our intimate moments were more like requisites. His idea of initiating sex was to say, "Pull your pants down," during commercials about once a week. Not so much passion in our lives and it was a source of frustration for me. One lazy Sunday afternoon a few summers ago I was washing the dishes. As I am apt to do on hot days or when I have a lot of dishes to do and don't feel like getting wet, I took off my clothes. This was the first time I had done this when he was over. So I was happily washing the dishes sans clothing when he walked in the kitchen. He glanced at me and opened the refrigerator. From it he withdrew a can of whipped cream. In my head I started whooping, "Oh BABY! Finally I'm gonna get some good, dirty action!" Just as I was starting to walk over to him with a sly, happy smile on my face, he squirted a dollap of whipped cream in his mouth, swallowed it, grabbed a can of Coke and padded back into the living room to watch TV. I followed him in there and glared at him. He asked what was wrong with both eyes glued to the TV and I told him he was a freak. When I explained that normal men would have been all over a naked, wet girl he just said, "But it isn't half-time." Hmmm. |
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