I don’t blog nearly as often as I should, so it was with firm intention that I sat down close to Halloween to write a post about mature phone sex while waiting for my phone to ring. The advantages of a mature woman. It seemed so write, I mean right, with leaves falling, to ponder May-October relationships and the virility of younger men and how they . . . well. Yes. Remembering to leave this blog fairly clean because I raised a teenage boy and know what I didn’t want him to find on the internet. You want the dirty talk? That’s why you call me!
I was distracted, however, by the recent disappearance of many of my belongings–the latest, my most beloved string of opera length pearls, a gift from an ardent and loyal caller (you know who you are and I adore you and my pearls!) Ever since my phone sex imp moved in, life has been full of these little mysteries. She is cute as a button with red hair and black boots but full of WAY too much mischief! She ALWAYS makes off with the last cookie and hides the toilet paper.
Well, THIS time I caught her in the act, zipping off with my perfect coffee cup, the one with the wide base and narrow top that the cats can’t knock over. I left my blogging and ran after her, threatening her with impicide and hoping I would find her secret hiding place, a sort of impish magpie’s nest with my errant things. But I wasn’t fast enough. That little imp moves like lightning, and then she’s gone! I have to admit I simply sat down where her trail ran cold and sobbed.
She must have seen me. After a few minutes I dried my tears and went back to my desk to work on my blog post. Life does, after all, go on. And wouldn’t you know, the draft of my blog was gone! But there, in its place, was my strand of pearls. Impie has a heart, it seems.
I sighed, and bowed to the inevitable. I wasn’t meant to write about mature phone sex today. Perhaps after Halloween my little imp will settle down. You think?