Bringing it back with....

I’ve always wanted to own a taser gun. I’m not sure why, but I think I would overuse it and probably end up in jail. What? Those shoes were only on sale yesterday?? TASER!! Because I’m the mom and I said so! TASER!! Yes, I legitimately have a headache and no I don’t get off on you groping me like a horny teenager! TASER!! Sure officer, I have my license and registration right…..TASER!!!! See, I would end up in jail and I do NOT look good in bulky silver cuffs. I only like the fuzzy ones that are used to restrain me for a whole different reason.

What is with men and morning wood? Why do they think it’s ok to jam their steel rod of horniness into our lower spines at 7am? And what in their tiny pea brains tells them this will turn us on and we will roll over and allow them to ravage us? I am going to perform a social experiment. Sunday morning, when my husband is sound asleep, snoring like a lumberjack and dreaming of naked Playboy bunnies at his beck and call, I am going to take a giant dildo and ram it into his spine and fondle his man boobs while breathing heavy, overnight morning breath on his face. Let’s see if THAT turns him on!

What would the world be like if men went through menopause? Would they switch to light beer while watching their games because they feel bloated? When they scratch their balls would they then look at their fingernails and ponder getting a manicure this week? Would they be a little more conscious of their back, nose and ear hair and then clog up the our spa time with facials and waxes? Would they spend hours obsessing over weight gain, sagging breasts, facial wrinkles and finding jeans that doesn’t make their ass look fat? I would love to see my husband break out into cold sweats, get a migraine and start crying for no reason whatsoever. Picture it….

Me: Babe, are you ok?

Husband: Fine. I’m fine. Is it warm in here? It feels really warm in here.

Me: No, it’s fine.

Husband: Are you sure because I am dying here. (takes off shirt)

Me: I can get a fan or something for you.

Husband: No, I don’t want a fan honey. I want for the temperature to stay at a reasonable level so certain people don’t have to live in misery and sweat to death while trying to watch the hockey game. Jesus! Is that so f**king hard to manage?

Me: Um, k. Well, I am going to the kitchen, away from the crazy. Can I get you anything?

Husband: Do you SEE how fat I am getting? Does it look like I need a snack? Are you trying to get me fat so no one else wants me? That’s it, isn’t it? You just want to make your fat, sweaty, menopausal husband even fatter and more undesireable so no one will ever look at me again. Real nice, baby, real fucking nice.

Me: Silence.

Husband: What? Nothing to say now? Just leave me alone.

Me: Walk away.

Husband: Yeah, fine! Just walk away from me. Just leave me here to sweat to death.

Me: Pause.

Husband: Honey?

Me: Yes?

Husband: I love you.

Me: Fantastic.

I have figured out why dogs are a mans best friend. Only a man could have a genuine appreciation for a creature that lifts its leg to pee on things to mark its territory, who can sniff another dogs ass and have it be foreplay, who can walk up behind another dog, mount them and have their way without question, and who can fart in the middle of a crowded room and think nothing of it. Add to that the fact that dogs can lick their own business and they have the life most men only dream about. Instead men are left to devise a lifelong plan that involves finding new and innovative ways to talk women into believing that blow jobs really are a gift, and that sex three times a week is truly the way God intended for it to be.

These are my random thoughts for the week!