Well, what a day. It's Saturday night to you, but due to a hellish schedule, Monday night to me. And everyone knows, Mondays are god's joke on all of us. One time, I cut out all the Mondays on my calendar. I taped the Sunday strip to Tuesday, and I didn't have any Mondays that whole year. What a great year! I mean, I flunked out of school and lost my job, but that's a small price to pay for avoiding Mondays. But this year the joke's on me, because my Mondays happen on Saturdays, and real Mondays are actually my Wednesdays, which I don't hate at all. So I'm a little slow in adapting. I don't know how pathetic I should feel for being at home right now, writing a blog just shortly before midnight on a night known to most as Saturday.
To be fair, I did do something today. I shaved my legs. That's kind of a Saturday thing to do, right? No matter that they hadn't been shaved in weeks, prompting my husband to ask whether I was trying to grow my own silk. I still did it, and I still want credit for it. SO BACK OFF. Man, now that I think about it, that was a crappy shower. My first shower all I had time to do was brush my teeth before the hot water ran out. So I got out, squeegeed the shower, toweled off, moisturized, and read Jane Austen for what I thought was time enough for the hot water tank to refill. Boy was I wrong. Shower #2 was just as cold as the first, but I toughed it out: I washed my parts and shaved my legs. I did not wash my hair, but since this is not really my Saturday, I think unwashed hair is just fine for a theoretical Monday. So I squeegeed and toweled and moisturized again.
Still following me?
And then nothing else funny happened to me for the rest of the goddamn day. But my sister told me I don't have to be funny; that I could in fact increase readership if only I would start publishing the details of my sex life. Of course, I would also have to start censoring material pertaining to unshaved legs, and I think we can all agree that that's some of my best stuff. I just don't do the whole 'sexy' thing very well I think. Sexy, to me, means 'Let's go have sex.' I don't go in for the candle crap. I have never used the phrase 'milky white breasts' in my life (well, except for just then). So, sorry sister, but I think I'd better stick to just writing about life.
Hey, wait a minute.
Why am I even having this conversation with my sister? She's my little sister! We should be playing with our tub toys, or pretending that our matching pink 10-speeds are matching pink motorcycles. Since when did we start admitting to sex? I remember when we used to giggle when the parents would hold hands. Now we're discussing the publication of lurid details (okay, I guess I'm flattering myself that my details would qualify as lurid...but I do know enough about sexy to rule out tepid or modest as good descriptions) and arguing about which one of us is most likely to become accidentally pregnant (hint: it's not me). I think we need to go back to a time where we still think that sneaking in Barbies at bedtime is the most fun you can have between the sheets. As far as little sisters go, I am much more comfortable with denial and repression than any of the possibilities of reality.
Good. I guess I can go back to not shaving my legs now.
Note to significant other: No, I don't think you're tepid. You have hot, hot sex.
Note to sister: I don't know anything about hot, hot sex.