Subs Overthink The Darndest Things

When he and I first got together, I was corrected a couple of times for attempting to "help" while we were scening. "If I want you to do something, I'll say so, otherwise, just hold still."

       ~fair enough~

Since then, I've been very guarded with my hands when we are en scène. My fingers might reach out to touch and stroke a bit if they can do so without excessive movement, but that's about as far as it goes. No doing anything that might be mistaken for doing something... nuh-uh, not me, sir!

That caution has even oozed over into our more casual, everyday mode. We're very relaxed and comfortable together, but there's simply not all that much touching in our interactions. It's not completely lacking, but I do rein in my hands, a lot.

You might think that wouldn't be a problem for a self-avowed, touch-avoidant Yankee, right? 

The thing is, that reserve only applies to casual, everyday relationships. In the romantic arena, I'm every bit as tactile as the next gal. Kisses, cuddles, nuzzles, and leisurely, open-handed caresses are all part and parcel of my instinctive behavior with a guy I care for.

But for the first five-year phase of our relationship, BG was a Man of Barriers -- and they extended into the physical realm. He never, ever rebuffed my touch -- but he rarely leaned into it, either. (I always had a sneaking suspicion that he actually liked being touched, he just hated dropping his guard more.) Yet without that kind of tacit encouragement, cautious Moonchild touch-phobic types end up figuring that if they run with their instincts, they'll squick the other person out with their pestering. (And nobody wants to either squick or pest!)
So, I exercised caution.

This time around, however, we're restructuring our boundaries. He's more open, I'm more willing to risk a wrong move…, it's all evolving nicely. But we still haven't really altered that touch thing and I'd begun to figure that was an area that wouldn't change. Not, perhaps, my favorite compromise but an acceptable one, nonetheless. (At least it avoids SquickPestery...)

So you can imagine my surprise the other night, when he grabbed both my hands and forcibly pulled them around him and held them there … until I got the point that I wasn't supposed to let go.

Hmmm… Maybe I need to work on that squick/pest thing, after all…

I Got Shy

Once upon a time, Beach Walker looked at me and said, “You’re actually really shy, aren’t you?” (At which point, I looked toward my kneecaps and mumbled, while nodding my head.)

“I just realized that that’s why you never meet my eyes for long. It took a while to figure it out, because I would never have guessed it from the rest of your actions… but You're SHY!”

(At which point, I’m pretty sure I met his eyes long enough to give him the Scowl of Death… before returning to a studied contemplation of my kneecaps.)

Having had this “tell” pointed out to me, however, I began to address the issue. I have tried hard to be conscious of when I’m averting my eyes and to force myself to look people in the eyes when in conversation. Of course, having waited so long to try to master such an uncomfortable skill, I don’t really have the process finessed yet. I’m pretty sure that most of the time, my quest to *hold* a person’s gaze ends up making them feel a bit like they’re on the receiving end of a vulture’s stare.

But still, I’ve made headway.

Or so I thought.

The other night, however, I got blindsided.

See, most of the times when we indulge in amorous recreation, he’s either he’s so far above me that the details of his face are blurry to my (usually) non-spectacled eyes, or he is safely behind me, where I can both pretend he can’t see me, AND avoid his eyes at the same time.
(Win/Win!)

Not so the other night., however.

Nope, that night, he was right in front of me and pressed in close. 

Like, really close. 

Like, my entire field of vision was filled with his face.

And suddenly… I couldn’t do it.

It was simply too much -- I could not meet his eyes… 

There I am, smack in the midst of a glorious reaming by a man who’s been plumbing those depths for over six years…, and I get shy? 

Should that even be possible?!?!???

Guess I’ve got a little more work to do, huh?

Seriously?

Somebody was teasing me the other day… but I wasn't entirely certain if it actually was teasing -- because there was a very real possibility that I just been rude and simply not noticed that fact. And I hate feeling like I've blundered all over someone's feelings -- I get all earnest and contrite when that happens. 

So this person didn't get anything like the reaction they'd been expecting.

     "Geeez! I can't even kid with you without you getting all serious…"

This caught me off guard, because I'd recently been indulging in an internal debate over whether or not I was entitled to use the word "serious" to describe myself. I couldn't really bring myself to believe I'd have much of a leg to stand on if I tried it, yet here was someone giving me grief about that very thing.

And I suddenly remembered a scene from high school…

I was with a friend who liked to style himself a Poet. (Personally, I considered that he merely wrote verse -- but he was a friend, so I never voiced this opinion… but I digress...)

An offhand conversation in the library led one of our teachers to inform him that he needed to buckle down and start taking things more seriously.

"ME?!?" (because Poets are always quite serious, don't you know…)

"Yes, you. You don't really take anything seriously… And you…" (she said, turning to me)

"YOU need to stop taking everything so seriously…"

I'm not sure who was more stunned, he or I.

Because, like him, that has never been the picture I have of myself -- not then and not now.

Yet, SP has thrown this at me, too. 

(And BG might have mentioned it more than once himself, she mumbles to her shoe…)

I'm still not convinced I buy it.

But for now, I'll pretend I do, because that means I can stop debating entitlement and just go ahead and share this with you!  ;-)

As The Mind Bounces

I whammed the beejeepers out of my toe the other day and as I was contemplating the pitiful, multi-colored wreck that resulted (if a thing is worth hurting, it's worth hurting well?) I found myself thinking, "not a lovesome thing, God wot"...

Really, it's absolutely maddening that my brain will throw up these pointy, irritating shards of a quotation and then refuse to disgorge the rest of it. Because, of course, I cannot let it be… No, no. I must know…it's a personal challenge. (Clearly, I once knew the whole quote, so spit it out, brain!) So I seethe for hours in itchy discontent until I finally stop wracking my brain and simply Look It Up. (One of the few times I will concede the superiority of the interwebz over books: Google just plain wipes the floor with Bartlett's…)

So, anyhow, I did the search.

And because I know you want to know - it's "a garden" that is a lovesome thing (God wot)

But once again, I couldn't just stop there.

Nope, I had to read the whole article.

(Apparently, I didn't learn my lesson from that whole unfortunate giraffe epsidode…)

But I can't help it -- you learn the most fascinating stuff when you keep digging!

To wit: did you know that this one very popular line from that one fairly atrocious Victorian poem has gifted the English language with the most superb word?

Are you ready for it...? .....

     Godwottery

Isn't that magnificent????

Seriously… I am thoroughly enchanted.

The mere sound of the syllables is enough to win my heart, but it gets better...

   Just read the definition:

"Godwottery can mean two things. First, it can mean the use of affected archaisms, and verily, the poet that useth godwottery is a tosser, iwis.

Godwottery can also mean tacky gardening. The collective noun for a horde of gnomes and charming water-features is godwottery." (From The Inky Fool)

There is A Word for Excessive Gnome Usage!!

(really, can you blame me for being over the moon??)

So, naturally, being completely charmed by this discovery, I was then moved to read several more posts by the Inky Fool, which led, of course, to following the side links to books he has written (Horologicon - a compedium of arcane English words, organized along the lines of a medieval book of hours; and Etymologicon - a circular stroll through the hidden connections of the English language) and the next thing I know, I've ordered one for giving to BookMan for Christmas, and put the other on my own Christmas wish list!

So to recap, in the space of seven minutes, I skipped from a mangled toe to heinous poetry to coined words to fascinating reads to successful Christmas shopping… 

Sometimes I don't know whether to kiss my brain or shoot myself!

MAWWIAGE

So, this week's TMI Tuesday wonders about marriage.

Now, I'm completely unqualified to speak to the matter, of course, but really, all they're asking for is some opinions… and I have plenty of those! :-D

So here we go...

1. Do you believe in marriage?

As it happens, yes, I do. 

Despite never having been tempted to indulge for myself, I do.

I think there's much to be said for that extra layer of commitment and stability that marriage *can* bring to people's lives. But it's also not something I see as a necessary component of a happy life -- because we all know that marriage doesn't inevitably bring those layers with it -- and things go wrong even with the best of intentions. So I don't think people need marriage to nurture a good relationship. In fact, I think marriage can make things just as much harder as it can make them more rewarding.

But still, I am heartened by the idea of two people loving each other enough to be willing to say, "I really want to try for forever with you…"

2. Have you ever proposed marriage or been proposed to marry? 

Well, no.

Neither.

I'm more prone to finding men who completely abjure marriage..., and then dash straight to the altar with the next woman they date after me.

Seriously. 

My track record is 100% on this...

3. What would be your dream way of proposing marriage?

I don't think I'd want it overly orchestrated or planned out -- no going on one knee required -- but I wouldn't want it to feel completely off-the-cuff casual, either. Probably during a pause while doing everyday things, asked in a simple and sincere way…

4. What would be your nightmarish way of proposing marriage?

Flashed out in neon in a large sports stadium.

This would be a huge failure to communicate, on levels too numerous to count...

5. Mainstream society has engagement rings; in your opinion, what token should be given to signify engagement?

I'm all for the engagement bracelet, a la Jackie Kennedy…

I love rings but I don't wear them well. They get banged up and in my way.

Bracelets, on the other hand, can be happily worn as a daily accessory.

6. Would you like to participate in an “open” marriage vs. a traditional monogamous marriage? Have you ever given it serious thought? 

No, I don't believe I'd like that a'tall, a'tall.

Altho' traditional can be a hard road to travel in and of itself, I realize this. 

But it's not impossible and frankly, I do prefer the thought of someone willing to "cleave only unto me"… But I also know monogamy can be tough, I know it's tempting to just bust out on occasion, and I know that the odd bout of infidelity does not have to threaten anything emotionally.

That said, however, I have personally witnessed a whole lotta hurt coming out of structured "open" marriages. It seems like there is inevitably one external relationship that comes along and breaks down the communication. Someone becomes too important for the other partner's comfort and the framework the two people have worked so hard to put in place just crumbles. Keeping a door open is every bit as likely to let things out as it is to let them in.

Nor frankly, is my self-confidence up to the strain.

I think I would prefer to struggle within the confines of a promise freely given.

Bonus: Tell us about someone you would have proposed to but never had the chance/opportunity.

Well, marriage and kids have never been big items on my agenda, so I don't think there's ever really been a "would have" for me...

In fact, truthfully, there's only been one man I've ever even, um, realistically fantasized about marrying… (yes, yes, oxymoron, I know... but if you think about it, you'll see what I mean!) but he was transferred back out of the country a month after we started dating, so it was kind of a moot point. And everyone since then has always brought up some version of, "well, I can't see that happening, can you?" in my mind...

So I can't really answer this question, I guess.  :-)

See Who Else Is Playing!

TMI Tuesday

My Neighbor's Hedge

I sit in the armchair in my living room every day.

And every day, I look out my window to my neighbor's house across the road.

It's a charming, shingled affair with a long row of bushes running directly under the six windows across the front.

My neighbor is fastidious about caring for that little hedge. 

He is not haphazard like me. He doesn't go at it with random swoops of a hedge trimmer. No, indeed. He starts out with secateurs, and then moves on to what I strongly suspect are nail scissors. Something very tiny, certainly. And his care shows. This thing is beautifully manicured.

So every day, as I sit in my chair, I wonder why, with all that effort, he couldn't get it straight.

The distortion is minor, mind you. The top goes along smoothly, just barely touching the bottom of the window frame for five of the windows -- until at the sixth, it decides to angle up a mere 3 inches in height. Barely enough to register to the eye as more than a swell...

But quite enough to bug me.

Maybe not to the point of actual irritation -- but definitely enough that I notice it. 

Every. Single. Day.

I think I'm turning into my uncle.

The one who used to phone my dad (from a different house across the street) for no other reason than to say, "That (whatever) you installed is CROOKED. I'm looking at it right now and it's definitely CROOKED...!"

(Apparently, "pernsnickety" is a familial trait…)

Our Bodies, Ourselves?

My friend Q has recently embarked on what is only the second or third relationship of his life -- and had this observation about the experience:

Here's something that baffles me about women … 

They wonder how I know what I do with their bodies -- and *I* wonder how they don't.  

I laughed pretty hard over that... and then got thinking…

You'd figure it would be easy. 

My body, I live inside it, I know what it's triggers are. 

But there are many, many assumptions that can deflect your understanding. 

For example, I can't imagine having been savvy enough when I was younger to think, "I really like soft strokes on my skin but they don't do a thing for me on my breasts… maybe I should try bitch-slapping these suckers, instead." 

Color me naive, but it's just not the sort of thing that would have crossed my mind.

Even without value judgements hindering your path, there are certain things that simply don't occur to you when you're starting to explore. And once you've found something that works, there's then a tendency to think you've done the work now and these are your parameters. You don't consider that you could maybe expand them because you sort of forget there's more space out there that could be filled. 

So, any vague dissatisfaction you may feel isn't because your focus is a little off-center - no, no. Either the two of you just aren't the best fit or he doesn't know what he's doing, or, as in my case, "well, sex just isn't really my thing, anyhow…" 

Even gaining enough experience to form a better idea of what pleases you doesn't make the situation much better, because then you have the awkward issue of how to convey your desires.

Again, it sounds so simple -- just tell him.

Uh-huh, sure.

Sometimes that works. 

And if you get lucky and receive a positive response the first couple of times you try, then yeah, you're probably not going to mind opening up that sort of conversation.

BUT...

If you your initial attempts garner a response that makes you feel belittled?

If you receive annoyance or, worse, pouting as the result of your suggestion?

Do you really think a person's going to keep beating her head against that wall?

Maybe you would, but I sure didn't.

Rather, for many years, my gut reaction to, "just tell me what you want" was, "Why on earth would I put myself through that? No one ever gets it right and I just end up feeling humiliated. Pass, thanks."

I guess the thing is that knowledge requires a lot of work.

Of a sisyphean sort.

Yet we are led to believe it just comes naturally.

Really, it's no wonder there are so many of us wandering around clueless...

A Choppy, Pointless, and Highly Parenthetical Ramble

My relationships seem to vacillate between men who appreciate my independence and men who need more "live in my pocket" than I can offer.

I'm not very good at being smothered so I can completely understand why I tend toward the ones who like my independence.

But…

I still want to be needed.

Needed, appreciated, desired, cherished...

in my own ruggedly independent (and occasionally submissive) way.

This is not an easy balance to achieve with the AOI. (Appreciators of Independence) Largely, because they usually appreciate it in me because they want it for themselves. 

So it boils down to a juggling act. 

From my side, I need to convey that I just want to feel included and remembered, that it doesn't mean I've totally changed my tune, or that I'm trying to lay a guilt trip on him.

From his side, he has to overcome his kneejerk reaction that what I'm asking would mean losing our independence, that my needs don't mean I've been misrepresenting or wearing a false face.

It's not an impossible task, but it doesn't happen overnight, either. 

Kaya wrote a post recently that talks about how there's a lot of work that goes into reaching the point where your relationship becomes one that people envy.

Now, I'm not by any means claiming that mine is a relationship to envy (well, okay, the "what we have between us" part is kind of enviable - but the rest of it would NOT work for most people) (as my friends continually remind me) (in supportive fashion)

but (to finish that sentence up there ^ that I left hanging wide open) my relationship is dear to me - so it warrants the work. (In fact, I'm pretty sure that any relationship worth it's salt is one that people have worked on.)

Where it gets tricky is in discovering how to keep the work productive. You have to be vigilant about allowing for the perceptions and desires of the other person, while expressing yourself honestly, and remaining willing to recognize and accept compromise.

This can be an absolute bugger of a dance, can I just mention?

Because really, it's much, MUCH easier for any of us (I don't like to think it's just me, anyhow) to simply pay lip service to the other person. Or to frame their words based on past experience (generally unsuccessful) with someone else (or even this same person) and end up not hearing what they're saying. 

Clarity, consistency, neutrality, and openness can be a nearly-impossible combination at times.

BG & I are both fairly decent at most of those, tho' not always all at once. However, the thing that has helped us the most is patience. We've both been willing to work down until we found a bedrock of faith in each other. 

I suppose it boils down to trust -- but it feels a bit wider in scope than that. I'm not just trusting him, I'm trusting in him -- and in him-trusting-in-me. And I'm acting in a manner that (hopefully!) shows that his trust is not misplaced.

Most of the time I think we're doing well.

Progress is slow but steady, with each learning and accomodating.

But I won't lie, there are times I wonder if I'm just plain kidding myself.

Isn't It Ironic?

The other night, I was ravished with kisses.

*bliss*

Kissing is one of those things that I adore, when well done. 

A good kisser can melt my knees and make me not care if we ever do anything else, because the lip sex is so glorious in and of itself.

The sheer sensuality, the unhurried exploration, 

    the want, the demand, the cherishing, the … 

     mmmmm, yeah …. 

(oh, sorry! where was I?)

Yes, I love a good kiss. 

But my dream kiss?

My dream kiss comes complete with a slow, deliberate cupping of my face. 

You know, like in the movies -- where every guy in the world seems to do it, as opposed to my reality, where almost nobody does… 

(Which, I have to tell you, really used to bug me. I could never quite figure out if the dichotomy was a result of Hollywood fantasy or poor selection criteria on my part. But whatever the reason, I felt the lack… In my world, good kissers were pretty thin on the ground.)

Fortunately, these days I have BG -- who both kisses like a fiend and face cups like a dream.

Call me Happy Girl.

There is a certain paradox here, however. When he and I first met, my focus centered around the joy of breaking a long dry spell of uninspiring sex. Finally, there was someone who could curl my toes with the heat of our physical connection. 

Let the mad fucking begin!

I never expected to end up whimpering in disappointment at being required to stop kissing and move on to that other stuff…  ;-)

More Missed Dinners

He has a knack for contacting me just as I'm about to fix my evening meal.

"Whatcha doin' in about an hour?"

"Nothing much. Wanna have dinner?"

"No, just a blow job…"

Now, this is all very well and good.

Except at this point, I'm hungry, dammit.

"So? You've got an hour…eat!" you say.

But it's not that simple.

Because it has recently been revealed that, contrary to my original understanding of the art of the blow job, the goal is not to stop gagging. Rather, gagging is actually a reflex greatly to be desired, because he loooooves the way it feels around his cock. 

So lately, he's been focused on ways to trigger more of that very reflex.

Angles, depth, speed, force, duration … 

All parameters are calculatedly manipulated and pushed.

And much gagging ensues.

(Not to mention gasping, retching, heaving, and streaming of the eyes.)

Which may please him but none of these reactions bode well for someone foolish enough to have just bolted down some dinner. (Trust me on this.) At least with an empty stomach, there's a faint hope that I will not disgrace myself completely. 

Kinda gives new meaning to the expression, "hungry for your cock"…

STILL...

busy, hot, sticky, tired, and crabby.

Not to mention completely not in the mood to sit with a hot machine on my lap and write.

But not so much that I won't check my stats -- where I could not help but notice...

Someone new visited my blog a few days ago.

They landed, 

     they searched for "girdle", 

        they searched for "enema", 

          they got no joy  … 

They left.

I feel their pain -- I disappoint me, too...

The Persistence of Vision

This is another one of those posts where I started off writing about one thing and the words took control and went in a completely different direction than the one I'd intended. So I'm giving them their head and just running with it.

But I apologize in advance - there's been a lot of boob talk around here lately and I'm sure you're all getting sick of it. Just bear with me on this post and I promise to rein it in from here on out. At least for a while. (And with the stipulation that "so he tied my boobs" does NOT count as "over-doing the boob thing", ok?)

But it all started when I read SirShy's observation that subs seem to dislike being made to get naked… which got me thinking. 

I'm not sure you can limit that statement to just subs. 

I've always been uncomfortable naked -- even before the Great Submissive Awakening.

I accept that it's an inevitable condition of sex, much less submission, but it does not follow that this makes it a condition I relish, none the less.

It's usually assumed that we resist being naked for our doms because nakedness makes us vulnerable -- but I think you need to dig a little deeper than that and ask what it is about this state that triggers the vulnerability?

Obviously, the answer varies from person to person but speaking for myself, I don't think it's the exposure of the pink bits, per se. Sure, those are things we've been brought up to view as private -- although frankly, I've never really understood what all the hoopla is about but, you know, we want to play nice, so if you feel the need to look at this, knock yourself out.

Nor do I feel disadvantaged by the disparity in amounts of clothing. It's something that triggers little submissive tingles, to be sure, but that's not vulnerability. 

No, for me, the vulnerability is in exposing my breasts.

That is the part that starts the flutters in the tummy and the "I'm looking anywhere except at your face because I really don't want to see your expression" eyeball dance.

Don't like it, don't wanna… but I gotta. 

This is just something I've had to learn to handle. 

And like many things you fake, it gets easier with practice.

(But I still don't like it, did I mention?)

I've often thought that if I were a taut kind of gal, I wouldn't balk so much at nudity. But I haven't been one of those since boobage set in at age twelve -- and I'm here to tell you, even if the rest of you is well-toned (which I did experience once upon a time,) you still don't *feel* trim when you've got these things floppin' away between your face and any of the rest of your body that's in visual range… (You know that expression about "can't get out of my own way" - and how it means you're aggravated and tetchy? Well, my boobs make that expression quite literally true, so imagine my mindset 50% of the time… Now unfetter those puppies… and watch the exponential growth in irkedness!) 

My breasts annoy and frustrate me -- they are a sore point -- so I have a really hard time imagining anyone else seeing them in a different light. Surely everyone must view them with the same distaste! I just cannot seem to get myself past that -- despite repeated demonstrations of opinions to the contrary -- so that's the reaction I brace for, every time.

(I've told you, I have a particularly intransigent brain...)

Personally, I pin my hopes on the possibility that one of these days when BG slaps them, they'll just go flying off my body and I'll be shed of them once and for all. 

Now, I strongly suspect that's sheer wishful thinking… 

But a girl can dream!!!

Real

I love this picture.

I don't know if these two are actually dom and sub or simply two people modeling for the shoot -- and I don't care. It's a wonderful picture and I love that they published it.

Because this is the human side of BDSM, something you don't always get to see here in Blogland.

I mean, I'm as fond of pretty pictures as the next gal…

But I also get really tired of all the posturing and tropes that so often appear in those pictures. "Inhumanly graceful submissive in attitude of serene acceptance"… "Nubile sub with pert boobs, runny mascara, and pleading eyes"… "Impossibly chiseled man wielding flogger"… "Bitchin' Domme in ridiculous shoes"… You know the stuff I mean. Fantasy stereotypes that have almost nothing in common with what actually goes on for most of us in our lives.

Sure, BG's the one in control, the guy tying the knots and dispensing the bruises. But that control is not gained through fear, intimidation, stern faces, or general bad-assedness. 

Nor does my submission miraculously make me nubile, graceful, or serene.

Rather, this is a relationship. There's give and take on both sides, there's caring, there's respect, there are real people here, doing real people type things.

Like laughing together, even at the darndest moments.

I want to see more pictures like this.

Reassurance

So, it's absolutely true to say I'm quite taken with the man.

And it's equally true to say I'm never quite sure where I stand with him, either.

Someone told me off-post recently that she really thought that I am a "need" for BG beyond just getting his kink on, that "given what he's going through in order to get to his Jz" I must really do something for him. She figured she was stating the obvious but had really wanted to say that to me anyhow.

I wasn't so sure there was anything obvious about it because, for all the time I spend feeling confident in our potential, there are also plenty of moments when I worry that I'm nothing more than a grey cat. ("Kink on, rocks off!")

People say, "Talk!" "Communicate!" and I get the message, I truly do. But there's also the very real fact that trying to open a clam just makes its muscles clench harder. 

BG is not a man to push. 

He refuses to lie, so if he's not sure he can follow through on something, he won't offer it. 

He doesn't indulge in cliches that may be misleading (and thus mistaken for a promise.) 

My only real option with him, in fact, is to look into his eyes, trust in what I see, and wait. Because when I'm least expecting it (and usually most needing it,) he'll toss me a bone.

And hoooboy did I get a doozy the other night!

Unasked for, inelegant, and earthy but also open, honest, and confirming something good that I had suspected -- but was afraid to pin hopes on without hearing the words.
It was one heck of a bone.

It's entirely possible that I haven't stopped smiling since… even during my naps!

Questions Unanswered

Back in November, I threw out a couple of questions to the world -- and then never answered them myself. (How very devious of me!) 

They were:

   "What do you imagine your Patronus as being?

    (And what do you suspect it might actually be?)"

and

   "what is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to you?"

I think the time has come for answers, if for no other reason than to get these half-formed thoughts out of my drafts folder. 

(Although you'll notice it also gives me March questions to answer, even tho' no one has actually asked me any … HA! Beautifully sneaky and I didn't even plan it!)

As far as my patronus is concerned, I'd love to think it would be something lofty and soaring, like a seagull. Free and graceful and playful…. oooo, watch it dive and swoop….

Unfortunately what I suspect would actually emerge from my wand, however, would be something small and prickly, like a wee hedgehog - in full spinal alert. 

Not nearly as picturesque as aisha and her unicorn…

The nicest thing ever said stumped me for a while. There have been observations I've appreciated, flattering compliments from loved ones that make me smile, but nicest thing was tough.

I think, however, it was a friend saying, "You really are a good person, aren't you?"

Now, I hasten to add, I don't think I am, particularly. 

I'm prickly and snappish and blunt and sarcastic and arrogant and I don't understand emotions very well so I'm constantly blundering all over people's feelings. 

I have a long, long way to go before I reach "good"...

But I do try.

And having someone see that felt, well, really nice.

How about you guys?

Check The Fine Print

I've always considered myself to be someone who likes animals.

Dogs, in particular, thoroughly rock. 

Cats maybe not so much but I'll still pet them whenever they so deign.

I've had birds, turtles, chicken, fish, and a mouse as pets... 

Somewhere in my stash of old vacation photos, there's even a picture of me riding an elephant. I am smiling happily and looking quite excited. 

Also from that day is a picture of me with a snake draped around my neck.

Can I just mention that I don't look nearly as happy or excited in that one...?

In truth, I don't know how they ever got me to stand still for that picture, because I am, in fact, completely creeped out by snakes. Actually, I'm not a big fan of any reptile but snakes take the prize. Even coming across a shed skin will make me squeal like a ruffled-panty'd little girl. 

Not that they incite bloodlust or anything of that sort -- I'm more of the "throw something and run" kind of gal. Nor do I care if they exist quietly beneath my woodpile -- just please do NOT let me see you, oh Snakes in My Grass.

And for the most part, Snakes in My Grass have been highly cooperative in enabling me to live a reptile-free existence ... until last summer.

Because something about my closed-in back porch became very attractive to snakes last summer. Apparently, it was a very pleasant place to sun. I know this because most afternoons would find a snake slumped bonelessly in a position of complete repose -- On. My. Porch. 

As in, right inside the door.

Completely underfoot.

Where I could pretty much step on it before even seeing it.

     (yeah….)

But I blocked up the access point, the siestas ceased, and I breathed a sigh of relief that Snakeypoo had moved on -- way too soon. Because shortly afterwards, I accidentally mowed the very essence out of Napping in the Grass Now Snake. (And let me tell you, if snakes already creep you out, a gouged, bleeding, semi-eviscerated snake is not an improvement. *blergh*)

It was thoroughly unpleasant surprise and certainly brought my mowing progress to a screeching halt (while I did a little screeching of my own.) Heart pounding, I watched and waited until the snake began a slow, hesitant trek toward recuperation. 

Except that pain apparently affected it's sense of direction because on the next pass-thru, I mowed the crap out of the stupid thing again. This time, the snake was distinctly impaired as it slowly twitched it's way to sanctuary. 

I had a bad feeling…

Sure enough, the next day, the snake was only about 3 feet from where it had last been seen wriggling. But it wriggled no more. Nor was it shiny anymore. 

Or responsive to gentle prodding.

Yup, I had a creepy dead thing in my yard.

And truly, despite my reputation for being pragmatic and not particularly girly, there are still times when my actions are purely X-chromosome-driven.

This was one of those.

But, oh, wait! BG was due that evening. I'm saved!

"Will you get the dead snake out of the yard for me? PLEEEEASE??"

  "…maybe. … If it's still light out when I arrive."

Naturally, he was late.

Dark as pitch as he came up the walk, it was. And I knew better than to even think of asking if he'd mind delaying his blow job until after he'd disposed of a dead snake…

But Eternally Hopeful Girl did give it a shot on his way out.

  "Hey, I've got a porch light, you know! … AND flashlights!"

  "Nice try!" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode (very) briskly away.

You know, expectations of submissive roles be damned.

There are some vanilla tropes that just plain trump the dynamic, hands down, every time.

Dead Thing Removal is one of those.

I'm pretty sure it's in the contract...