Oct 28, 2012

The blog in which I DON'T want a penis.

I suppose I am confused.  It appears that I have spammed myself, and am trying desperately to sell myself on a penis.  Or pills to grow one.  I am not sure, but while I have a "testy" relationship with my girlie bits, I need not throw a total hissy fit and grow a shlong.  Wow.

Also, I am not sure why I continually receive things for AARP, hearing aides, and the like.  Unless I really am THAT old AND senile.  Am I senile?  If so, how many times have I asked you that?  And aren't you cold?  Put a sweater on- I'm chilled.  Freakin' Frankenstorm.  That wind is pissing me off.  First, it's loud.  Second, it's making our sweet neighbors' wind chimes have a seizure and I am not partial to it.  Okay.  I might senile.  I think I have blogged about these wind chimes before, but darn it if I don't like these neighbors.  Anyway- go put a sweater on.  I have to go find my penis, or the pills I need to grow one.  But I just don't remember wanting one.  Ever.  Except, on my hubby of course.  Well, only his.  I do not wish for just any penis to be on him.  Just his.  You got that though, right?

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