If you are faint of heart, you may want to stop reading now. Hmmm….maybe I shouldn’t have said that because there is a real possibility that you might be ‘faint of heart’ but also have a cat’s curiosity, so now you can’t stop reading. If that’s the case, please accept my advanced apologies in case you won’t be in any state to accept the apologies at the end.
The Viking and I have sex every Sexday because…well….because. The point isn’t about the sex itself but what comes after the sex, so rest assured we won’t be getting too specific about that.
Except that one time, with the English Tween Author, who I thought was just going to give me a New Year’s Kiss but 4.6 seconds in I was on the floor wedged between the coffee table and the sofa hollering “Geezuz Cripes!!” 22 seconds later he was sitting on the sofa smoking a cigarette and asking if I’d like a glass of wine. He was like a Sex Ninja or something and I wasn’t entirely certain whether I had actually participated or not. I suppose I should have been flattered at his apparent enthusiasm but to be honest I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to appreciate it. All the way home I kept thinking “It’s not the size of the army, it’s the speed of the attack” and then laughing so hard I was snorting.
I digress. What I really wanted to talk about was my hair. Specifically, my hair and what happens to it during sex.
Not that hair! The hair on my head! Geez! I’m trying to be delicate here!
I’ve always been extremely talented at Sex Hair but it wasn’t until this past Sexday that I truly understood the vast artistry of my ability. As I wandered past a mirror on my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of myself.
Me: Viking! Come here! You have to see this!
The Viking: Ooooooo…..that’s impressive!
Me (twirling around): I know! I think it’s my best one yet – it’s sort of reminiscent of a Turkey’s Ass.
The Viking: Yes. Now that you mention it, it does look a lot like a Turkey’s Ass.
Me: I should get an award for this.
The Viking: I’m not sure this is your best one though. I kind of liked the Llama Long Hair.
Me: That one was truly terrible, wasn’t it?
The Viking: Yes. And don’t forget the Holy Hell Monkey one either.
Me (laughing): I still can’t believe that my baby-fine hair could stick up like that!
Sometimes I can guess what motion caused the hair – like the head tossing from side to side while hollering ‘Yes!’ over and over again. Other times I haven’t got a clue what I was doing that could possibly create the end product on my head.
Did a hurricane sweep through the bedroom without us noticing?
Maybe a bat got in and I was too distracted to be freaked out?
I tried keeping a picture diary of my Sex Hair Creations but my talent is, obviously, not taking pictures. Instead I trolled the internet to find comparable animal facsimiles. Surprisingly, some animals are pretty good at Sex Hair.
If I had a choice, I probably wouldn’t have choosen Sex Hair as my major talent. I would have picked something like painting or rally car driving or tap dancing but I wasn’t given the choice. I’m not sure who I should complain to either. My parents? How would that conversation go?
“Why is my only talent Sex Hair?”
“You should have stayed in band. I hear Clarinet players can make decent money nowadays.”
So, there it is in a nutshell. I have a talent but only The Viking gets to admire my work and I haven’t figured out how to make any money doing it. Unless I can convince Kate Middleton to ditch the hats and go for better hairdos.
I’ll send her a letter.