You urgently need a man thong, preferably in gold lamé or sequins. You’re writing a blog post about home décor and want to use the term “honey pot”, but have a sneaking suspicion that you could be misconstrued. Someone asks you if you’d like to touch their merkin, but you’re not sure what your answer should be. What do you do? Where do you go in your time of need? Who will gently help you with all the things you’re terrified to ask?
Me, of course.
I love that I’m like a one-stop shop for anything even slightly salacious – if you need to know what it is, where it should be inserted, and how you can get one NOW, I’m your girl. Two of the three scenarios in the opening paragraph happened this morning, from different people over different messaging tools and for some weird reason, at the same time. Seriously, this makes me incredibly happy. I’m glad that all the brain power and fleshy disk space I’ve used up to memorize a Wikipedia’s worth of bawdy knowledge is so handy not just to myself, but my friends. The precociousness of my talent for the ribald that I first showed my proud father and mortified brother at 14 has blossomed into a beautiful, gushing fountain of hot, thick knowledge that spurts out from betwixt my lips and fingers in a sticky droplets to be lapped up by those around me, and it. is. awesome.