"Go ahead......lick it......you know you want to. No biting."
Those were my words to The Boss's husband Thursday morning after he stuck his nose in my Personal Space.
He was leanin' over My Personal Joy and inhaling. I don't believe in teasing chained animals, particularly chained men, but he makes it too, too easy.
I had wiggled The Goods in his face the day before and got this response:
"Oh yeah! Why don't you just bend over, drop your drawers, AND SHOW ME SOMETHIN' ELSE I CAN'T HAVE??!??" He actually yelled at me!
Poor thing. Chained to the wall.....with Heaven just out of reach.
Sucks to be him...........
He wasn't bent over sniffin' any of my, uhhhhh, Physical Atributes.
He's chained to a diet.
He was lustin' after my breakfast biscuit.
People, you can snoop thru my purse. Rifle thru my panty drawer if it blows your skirt up. Read my text messages if you don't have a life.
Cop a cheap feel if you just feel lucky and we'll sort it out after the fact.
Touch that biscuit and you will bleed.
It's the best part of my day and I will not share.
The Dear Lady at the diner splits a homemade buttermilk biscuit in half, spreads a little mayo and mustard on the halves, and crams pan sausage, scrambled eggs, and a slice of cheese in it with a little salt and pepper.
This concoction has so much grease in it that it soaks thru the wax paper it's wrapped in, soaks the paper bag they put it in, and I have to clean the grease off of the counter when I've finished it!
IT'S WONDERFUL! It'll make your tongue slap your brains out!
I wolf mine down at The Big House and it was sittin' in a puddle of sausage grease on the kitchen counter when Bosslady's hubby found it.
It'll blow his diet all to Hell and all he can do is smell the thing.....and wish.
He's stuck with a bowl of instant grits for breakfast and my biscuit smells better than Chanel No. 5!
He left the kitchen.
I may never buy cologne again. Sausage grease dabbed behind the ears is the way to go.