I can definitely hear something.
You probably think I’m crazy, but I can hear something.
We don’t have a basement, so there is no ‘downstairs’; so where is the sound coming from?
I know I don’t look very dignified, but I dropped my pencil, and it rolled away. Probably went under the sofa.
That’s the problem with polished floors, stuff rolls away.
Now, if John had bought me the carpet, he promised the pencil would have hit the ground and stayed there. But no; it hits the polished boards, and away it goes. I knelt down to see if I could see it and the closer I got to the floor the louder it got.
Sometimes it sounds like a conversation, and other times it sounds like singing.
I can’t stay down here all afternoon, but I don’t want to get up either.
My knees hurt and if John walks in the door and sees me in this position he is likely to take advantage, and that will mean that supper will be late.
John likes to be thoughtful and tender; he takes his time. Which is okay with me most of the time, but when food is cooking, I wish he would be more like other men and get on with it.
Obviously, my views on the subject are purely hypothetical.
John is the only man I have made love to, but my female friends do tell me stories. I almost wish they wouldn’t; almost.
Females can be amazingly indiscreet.
I never discuss the specifics of our love life. I talk in generalities, but if I don’t add something to the conversation, the other women change the subject or leave me out of the juicy bits.
I must say that it makes it very hard when we entertain or are invited out to dinner. I keep looking at the husbands and remembering what their wives said about them.
He’s in too much of a hurry; he is too shy; he likes to have the light on, he likes the light off.
He likes ‘threesomes’.
Boy, was that an interesting conversation.
“How do the boys divide you up?” was the most interesting question.
Who works on which bits?
We were all thinking it, but Betty said it.
We all acted shocked, but we also hung on the answer.
“Mostly, the men are not as brave as they thought they would be and the whole thing fizzles out.” Martha sounded very disappointed.
I’ve thought about it, who hasn’t, but it’s a big jump from thinking about it to actually doing it. I don’t tell the girls, but I’d have a go, as long as I could pick the third person.
Sexual fantasies are all very well, but they are not going to help me work out where that noise is coming from, or where the hell my pencil went.
John just came through the front door.
What the heck; dinner can wait.
Painting by Kenton Nelson.