Wherefore art thou undies?

I went to the doctor today to have a test done…okay, a pap smear. You know, it’s one of those things that women don’t like having done but we do it because death is a really bad alternative. It also makes me think not having sex would have been better as no pap smear test to be done but then you remember what having sex is like and you realise that sex is worth it. I then contemplated, as I do, why people want sex toys stuffed inside various orifices when I have this test done. Some things just aren't natural. Actually, I contemplate all sorts of stuff on a regular basis and not just at pap smear tests.

 

Anyway, I stripped off from the waist down and had it done and was left to put on my undies and shorts behind the curtain. The shorts I could find but not the undies. Huh? I looked everywhere in the cubicle I was in. Where had they gone? They weren’t in the bed or on the floor. It was quite the conundrum and had me wondering had I actually worn undies in? Hmmm, yes, I had. Okay, was I then losing my mind? I looked at where the bed was attached to the wall. No undies there. I then noticed a small space between the bed and the wall. As I peered over I could just see my undies at over an arms length down at the bottom of that space. I tried pulling the bed out. It was solidly attached. I tried to put my arm down the slight gap to reach them. It was a tight fit and bloody hard to get my arm out once in. I pondered what it would look like if the curtains had opened at that stage with me bare arsed and wiggling to pull my arm out. Not a good look. Once I had pulled my arm out I thought about the undies I had worn. They were nothing special – navy blue with pink lace. As I pulled on my shorts over my bare arse, I decided in years from now when they renovate someone will find the navy blue and pink lace undies and wonder what went on -  especially if there is more than one set of underwear found. Orgy in the Doc’s office? Ah, let ‘em wonder I say…   

To Cambodia or not Cambodia…

So, people on my personal email got an email link from me about Cambodia. It was just the link and nothing else. Let me assure that I did not send it. It happens. There are losers out there who hack emails because they run out batteries for their sex toys and decide to piss around on the internet hacking people’s emails. So no – it wasn’t me. I have plenty of batteries…and no, I’m not suggesting anyone I know goes to Cambodia – but, in saying that I’m also not implying you shouldn’t go to Cambodia. I’ve never been. I cannot make a judgement on it. Go or not go to Cambodia as your conscience dictates. Okay? I should also add that me sending an email with the suggestion that you ‘go to Cambodia’ does not indicate that it is a subtle way of me telling you to go to hell. If you are on my personal email then you know I would just say ‘go to hell’ in less cryptic terms. Now,  if you did not get the Cambodia email then don’t email me asking why you didn’t. I don’t know. Maybe the hacker sensed your email address was not appropriate for Cambodia – and no, I don’t know why a hacker who has no batteries for his sex toys but plenty of time on his hands doesn’t think you’re worthy of Cambodia. It is what it is.  

So – Cambodia is your choice. Go – don’t go – just leave me out of it.  

Sex quandry...

So I was driving home from work, along a route I should take more often as it’s a pretty drive, and I passed a sex toy shop on a major street in Cairns. No one was parked outside and it looked deserted. I wondered to myself who actually would park out the front of one and have their car seen by their Great Aunt Betty on her way home from bingo? Or did you park on a side street to avoid stares and whispers? Do you saunter up to the front door with the look of I-need-a-dildo-and-to-hell-what-anyone-else-thinks or do you scuttle around the back, all timid like, wearing dark glasses and pretending not to recognize your Great Aunt Betty as she and the girls from bingo come out of the sex toy store with shopping bags?  

I heard on the radio that the advent of Fifty Shades of Gray had people frequenting sex toy shops as they were as horny as goats…

Sex…always a quandary – too much…too little…too hard…