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?