And for the people reading this that imagine that my tone was critical when I said it, I found the grease thing totally hot and said so. I want to squeeze out a pizza’s worth all over her. The cute and sheepish grinning is the hottest part, but she doesn’t even realize.

And Dear, you told me there was going to be hypnotherapy and that I would be able to use commands that trigger post-hypnotic suggestions and make you do my bidding. I feel tricked. Which is typical, because I often ascribe malicious intent to people not foreseeing and correcting my ignorance. I plan to bring this up in a future session.

But right now I have to beat you to the bedroom and get rid of that monkey doll I placed there to await you in the dark. Until I read this post I thought that it would be a sweet gesture of my love. We totally need counseling.

P.S. 70,000 miles and still almost half the original brake pads in front and 80% left in back is not the only reason I careen around corners and down shift precipitously before stoplights or traffic jams. It’s because that’s how Marion Cobretti would do it. He would have no idea how to fix a stove though, and that’s why it’s no secret that I’m hot shit.