I'm a Muse
I am all for self-expression.
I paint. I know people that write poetry or play guitar. I know a man that sculpts the busts of celebrities out of chicken wire and some kind of vomity looking substance. Some people even blog.
Everyone can use a little help expressing themselves from time to time. A muse. Inspiration. A paycheck and benefits. A pair of Manolos. A fistful of dollars.
I find inspiration in the little things. I've always been good at letting people know what my needs are. I am good at Charades. Also, sometimes, I wet my pants.
The other night, in a dramatic display, I tried to show Lisa that I needed a glass of wine. I did my best thirsty look. I pantomimed a corkscrewing motion (in hindsight; may have been a little graphic). Two Words. First word: Sweet. Second word: Nectar. She didn't get it. She put on porn. I watched for a bit before dragging myself across the floor like a soldier in Kuwait.
Lisa slapped herself dramatically on the forehead, "Crap! I've got to express Ralphie's anal glands!"
I had never before had the privilege of anal gland expression. It is a rare and special experience between a dog owner and a dog, and sometimes, the unfortunate friend who is too drunk to drive home and is sickly sort of interested. It seems, that Ralphie (the dog) had not been dragging his a$$ across the carpet for reasons of hygiene. Rather, he was trying to clear his delicate anal sacs.
I stuck out my hand. Ralphie gave me his paw. I took a shot of Crown . Ralphie put his nose in my crotch. There was no time for a romantic dinner and a movie. I drank most of a bottle of wine.
And then, we started.
I am usually good with balls. Seriously. No one has ever complained in the past. I will not be asking Ralphie for a reference.
What I did next, I will only talk about in therapy.
I will never eat walnuts again. Also, hand jobs are out for a bit.