a. . .my name is Allison, I hear you cluckin'
I've never done this before. And as long as I only have three readers, I'll probably never do it again. But a recent comment has left me with the itching, burning desire, that perhaps only Alpha Sterol can alleviate, to dedicate a post.
a. . .my name is allison, walk with me.
While my in, and post-flight fairytale might sound nice and romantic to the outside observer, it. . .well. . .it's fu*king awesome, actually.
Um. . .ok, let's try another approach.
I think I can preface this by referring to the opening line of my Best Man speech earlier this summer at my best friend's wedding, when I said, "Now I'm probably the last person in the world that's qualified to offer relationship advice. . ."
G*ddamnit.
Ok. Let's "John Madden" your previous two encounters. That is to say, let's do a play-by-play analysis of what went down. Only we'll "Stickerize" it and condense it to keep the interest of my other two readers.
#1. Fox. f. . .was for Fox. f. . .is (now) for fu*ked up. I understand the allure of firefighters for women. No problem. So without getting all hot and sweaty about it, let's analyze your approach the Oreo way.
First, the outer cookie crumble: 'B+' for allowing him to enter into your home to inspect and ensure your equipment was functioning properly. So to speak. Though a no-brainer, still a trusting and bold move, knowing full well that your equipment works just fine.
Second, the white, creme-filled middle: 'D' for not instigating the encounter to proceed further and thus, longer. Let's say a stri. . .I mean, a 'dancer,' came a knock knock knockin' on my front door at 3 am. Hell, anytime for that matter. You'd better believe I'd be doing my damn best to ensure that she's doing a Breakfast Burrito run the next morning.
Third, the outer cookie crumble; cause there's two: 'A' for dishing out the comment about wearing less clothing in your otherwise, sleepy state. I'm not sure I would've thought that quickly.
Bottom line, opportunities just don't come knocking at your door like that. Did he have a business card in case anything "came up?" Er, went up? Like a blaze or one's shirt?
#2. t. . .is for texting. No, my dear. . .t is for telephone. And telephone is for talking. And talking leads to touching. And touching leads to tickling. And tickling leads to happy touching. And happy touching leads to tonguing. And tonguing leads to tearing off clothes. And tearing off clothes leads to a topographical, tender, often tempestuous tour of your titilating torso, thighs, teets and toes, followed by moments of take me, take this, let's try that, a timeless thumping of tonal thunder and tireless tissue touching, tugging and thrusting giving testament to each other's thankful tenacity and thoughtless temptation that led to that time on the terrace, tail-gate, table top or twin-sized bed topped off by some time in front of the television.
But that was your call.
a. . .my name is allison, walk with me.
While my in, and post-flight fairytale might sound nice and romantic to the outside observer, it. . .well. . .it's fu*king awesome, actually.
Um. . .ok, let's try another approach.
I think I can preface this by referring to the opening line of my Best Man speech earlier this summer at my best friend's wedding, when I said, "Now I'm probably the last person in the world that's qualified to offer relationship advice. . ."
G*ddamnit.
Ok. Let's "John Madden" your previous two encounters. That is to say, let's do a play-by-play analysis of what went down. Only we'll "Stickerize" it and condense it to keep the interest of my other two readers.
#1. Fox. f. . .was for Fox. f. . .is (now) for fu*ked up. I understand the allure of firefighters for women. No problem. So without getting all hot and sweaty about it, let's analyze your approach the Oreo way.
First, the outer cookie crumble: 'B+' for allowing him to enter into your home to inspect and ensure your equipment was functioning properly. So to speak. Though a no-brainer, still a trusting and bold move, knowing full well that your equipment works just fine.
Second, the white, creme-filled middle: 'D' for not instigating the encounter to proceed further and thus, longer. Let's say a stri. . .I mean, a 'dancer,' came a knock knock knockin' on my front door at 3 am. Hell, anytime for that matter. You'd better believe I'd be doing my damn best to ensure that she's doing a Breakfast Burrito run the next morning.
Third, the outer cookie crumble; cause there's two: 'A' for dishing out the comment about wearing less clothing in your otherwise, sleepy state. I'm not sure I would've thought that quickly.
Bottom line, opportunities just don't come knocking at your door like that. Did he have a business card in case anything "came up?" Er, went up? Like a blaze or one's shirt?
#2. t. . .is for texting. No, my dear. . .t is for telephone. And telephone is for talking. And talking leads to touching. And touching leads to tickling. And tickling leads to happy touching. And happy touching leads to tonguing. And tonguing leads to tearing off clothes. And tearing off clothes leads to a topographical, tender, often tempestuous tour of your titilating torso, thighs, teets and toes, followed by moments of take me, take this, let's try that, a timeless thumping of tonal thunder and tireless tissue touching, tugging and thrusting giving testament to each other's thankful tenacity and thoughtless temptation that led to that time on the terrace, tail-gate, table top or twin-sized bed topped off by some time in front of the television.
But that was your call.
