Trolling for Panties.
OK so what if I've had a headache most days this week. And there's that time on Wednesday when a kid threw up into my hands. I've certainly not had enough sleep. Hey did I mention that cold? Well it moved right the fuck into my chest. Oh! Let's give a shout out to my son who completely lost his shit and kicked a teacher.
What's that you say? My marriage? Right-o! My husband and partner of 10 years moves out this weekend.
But hey fine, I'm rolling with it, feeling boisterous and wry about it all. I'm game. I'm in there, fully submerged in my life and kind of invigorated by it. 'Another day, another adventure,' I thought upon waking this morning. I'm good. Cruising the highway with the music blaring, not having any idea where I'll wind up.
Until.
Until.
I went to pack for the weekend and remembered that it was kind of important to do laundry when I got home because I have no clean underwear. Let me rephrase. I have no clean First Tier underwear. I have to go trolling for panties. Here are the cute ones that are, like, two sizes too small (pre-baby purchase). Here are the old old old ones with elastic that is -- wait -- what elastic?
But I'll tell you what's more depressing than the lackluster state of my underwear drawer:
Pulling down the fancy lingerie box and realizing that the only reason I'm opening it is for the inauspicious occasion of Laundry Day.
No one's getting laid. No one is snooping around, looking for fun. There's no hope of touch or desire tonight or tomorrow or the day after or the day after that or the week after that. Warm friendly hugs are what I have in store for the forseeable future.
Oh that's a desolate feeling, my friends.
But one that I choose to submit to, I guess. Technically, I could go out tomorrow night and do my own trolling, or have my panties trolled, however that metaphor is less awkward. There is just no fucking way, though. I know too much. I want too much. As a friend said, once you earn your PhD in fucking, you really can't go back to undergrad. The cheap and easy encounter wouldn't actually solve anything.
So I'll just run my fingers once more over those closeted silks, shimmering ghosts waiting in my closet. They'll wait. I'll wait.
Ugh.
5 Comments:
I know how you feel Wry, I've been thinking about what I want next, and can't decide. I think it's going to have to be more than just a fuck buddy because I've missed out on the intimacy for way too long.
And I loved your tag line!
P.S. buy more undies!
So riding bareback was out, hunh? Would've allowed you to postpone laundry one more day, at least, lol.
Ghosts doesn't sound right . . . spirits, waiting for their chance to live again . . . something more along those lines.
XO
OK, having a child puke in your hands is one of those parenthood moments that I'm comfortable never having O_o
And don't dispair. The day will soon come when you'll be wearing new panties out -- in more ways than one.
*big giant hugs*
In all seriousness, in the midst of this, you have stop and be thankful for the fact that good times must be right around the corner. Those panties will be put to good use soon enough! :)
"a desolate feeling" that I know only too well. As I do my son "losing his shit". Are we almost living the same life?
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