u s e y o u r h a n d s

Men will not understand, unless you’re some kind of intersexed man-lady with boobies. But most of you aren’t. And if you are, call me. I kind of want to check that out.

Anyway, I dressed this a.m. in a rather stupid, ham-handed [not in the large hands way, but in a clumsy ass way] manner, throwing on an outfit sort of impractical for the day. I thought it was going to be another of the shimmery spring-has-sprung days we’ve been having, so I went with a dress, no tights, and open toe sandals. The dress, I realize at a stop light, makes me look like cleavage central. And who’s to help me realize this but the dude in the car next to mine? I needed to yawn, so I did, arching my arms back over my head and doing this chest-thrusty thing. But it’s my car, and as such, I am invisible in it. Not today! I happen to catch the guy next to me check out said chest-thrustage and blowing me a kiss. Ew, ew, Polish plumber. Ew, ew.

I have never noticed until right now that Polish and polish are the same thing. I am not retarded, I just failed to realize. I now imagine hordes of Poles buffing their way around Europe, like backpacked American college students with new credit cards.

Today is Brian’s birthday. Happy Prime Number, Brian! I kiss you!