Observations on Sex, Life, and Rock-n-Roll (but Mostly Sex)
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree and Rising.
– Not all sex toys are dishwasher safe.
– Thanks to the girls’ not keeping the puppy out of the laundry room, all my panties are now crotchless.
– Statistically speaking, if a 75-year-old woman is drinking at 7:41 AM while walking along Highway 20 in Bluewater Bay, there is a 98.7463728 percent chance she’ll stumble in front of my car.
– The male co-worker who shows up in my office and asks if I’m okay with his closing the door so he can talk personnel issues and he doesn’t want to frighten me— since, after all, he’s a man and I’m a woman and he wouldn’t want me to be nervous about him closing the door to talk to me alone—has no idea that I have a Feeldoe Stout hidden in my bedroom closet for just the right man, whenever I should find him. Who’s nervous now, pony-boy?
– Dogs and cats have short noses so they don’t get them wet in their water bowls. Men do not.
– A lot of men say they want a dominant female in their lives but they really want only one night of something different and in addition to that, they want to tell the dominant female exactly how to dominate them on that one particular night. Yeah, and people in hell want ice water, too.
– When other drivers see you dancing and singing behind the steering wheel, they honk and act like they’ve just caught you doing something embarrassing instead of smiling and cranking up their own tunes.
– The 30-year-old guy who writes me and says he wants to meet me and if I talk as much as I write (I don’t), he’ll have to find a way to keep my mouth busy and that because he took the time to read a journal entry, he deserves a response…isn’t going to get one.
– As a tattooed, nose-stud wearing friend once told me, if you’re flying the friendly skies, pack your vibrator in your checked luggage, not your carryon. First of all, do you really need it at 30,000 feet? And second, airport security will take things out of your bag when they search it, and you really don’t know who else’s bags their hands have been in.
– When I die, I want to be cremated with my ashes scattered to the winds. I do not want my loved ones visiting a stone in the cemetery as if that’s where I’m hanging out. It’s not where I’ll be. However, if they do see fit to bury vs cremate, then I insist my epitaph reflect my spiritual beliefs: I’ll Be Back.