It's me, Baroness.
So, hey? I've got a couple of issues to discuss with you, regarding the attributes that you have so kindly seen fit to bestow upon me.
Was it not enough that you gave my hands an other-worldly, reptilian texture, thereby making me the social pariah of elementary school?
Then was it not enough that you made my colon so accomodating that I not only could entertain a gajillion strains of healthy bacteria, but be the hostess with the mostest for their trailer-park cousin, cancer?
Was that not enough to amuse you? Did that not give you mirth and satisfaction as you tossed humility and despair onto my character-building pile?
Did you not think, at that point, that I had become enough of an evolved individual?
Now this.
This I'm finding really hard to get over.
Apparently, in your infinite wisdom, you deem it necessary that I add "Chatty Uterus" to my repetoire.
Here's where I finally balk. Enough, already.
I've had it, and I'm officially giving you the "thanks but no thanks".
Yup, me.
Oh, yeah. Me.
And the 20 other women in my yoga class.
The ones who have the pleasure of eavesdropping on my no-good, no-sounds-barred, filibustin' no-no.
Dude. C'mon. This really has to stop.
Because for once, I don't think you're getting the big picture.
You know how they say that the beating of one butterfly's wings can unleash a hurricane on the other side of the world?
Let me just reveal that, thanks to your new "gift", I am destroying a signficant chunk of the Australian Outback.
For the love of You, please make it stop.
*queef: syn - vart. (figure it out, people)
Was it not enough that you gave my hands an other-worldly, reptilian texture, thereby making me the social pariah of elementary school?
Then was it not enough that you made my colon so accomodating that I not only could entertain a gajillion strains of healthy bacteria, but be the hostess with the mostest for their trailer-park cousin, cancer?
Was that not enough to amuse you? Did that not give you mirth and satisfaction as you tossed humility and despair onto my character-building pile?
Did you not think, at that point, that I had become enough of an evolved individual?
Now this.
This I'm finding really hard to get over.
Apparently, in your infinite wisdom, you deem it necessary that I add "Chatty Uterus" to my repetoire.
Here's where I finally balk. Enough, already.
I've had it, and I'm officially giving you the "thanks but no thanks".
Yup, me.
Oh, yeah. Me.
And the 20 other women in my yoga class.
The ones who have the pleasure of eavesdropping on my no-good, no-sounds-barred, filibustin' no-no.
Dude. C'mon. This really has to stop.
Because for once, I don't think you're getting the big picture.
You know how they say that the beating of one butterfly's wings can unleash a hurricane on the other side of the world?
Let me just reveal that, thanks to your new "gift", I am destroying a signficant chunk of the Australian Outback.
For the love of You, please make it stop.
*queef: syn - vart. (figure it out, people)
11 comments:
You're cutting the breeze in Yoga class? Dang! Too much fiber? Fruit?
There, there dear. My hands are beginning to look like yours. I'm trying to convince myself that it's adorable!
Lord! The last thing we need is for anymore noises to come from any more holes in our body! What next, the urethra fart? Please!
Countess AG: Read this again. Similar acoustics, different orifice.
Equally mortifying.
Countess Tracey: I think an urethra fart is the same as wetting your pants.
As least it's quiet...
Oh. My. I feel ya girlfriend. Did you have a ginormous baby too? Nobody tells you just exactly how much havoc a pumpkin headed infant can wreak on your lady parts.
Countess BA: Ginormous babies? Is this what's responsible? If this is the case, they can come with me to yoga class next time to hear the damage they've done.
This should garner quite a handsome Mother's Day gift, methinks...
Countess MPM: Just so you know, I think I'm a baritone, and I like to stand nearer to the back of the choir, if you please. Maybe we can start a glee club this summer :)
Right now I am laughing so hard!
made.
my.
day.
Er, the hills are alive, with the sounds of royalty??
Countess Grace: I hope that laughter doesn't turn into something, you know, embarrasing.
Or maybe that just happens to me.
Countess WRH: Then I accomplished what I set out to do - trot out my "adventures" for the amusement of others.
Thank god I start "Yoga on the Dock" classes this week - I can lay blame on passing seals or the occasional orca...
Count Cormac: I admire and deeply appreciate your fortitude for coming back again and again when I'm getting all girly-parts.
You are a trooper, sir. I assure you that this week's topics will be somewhat less estrogen-laden.
One last thing, though, that you might find amusing - my verification word is "flaticl", which I'm sure is some sort of Slavic-esque terminology for my
aformentioned malady. Or maybe it just onomatopoeia...
I am ever fascinated with the female of the species, especially all the little blogging of quirks and complications.
Count Brown: Quirky and complicated.
So me.
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