I am tired. I am weary. I could quief for a thousand years. Q had me up at the crack of dawn this morning, whispering the words hey honey, it's 5 o'clock, it's time to wake up. He said this, flitting past like a phantom, and as I opened my eyes I could've sworn he was wearing a long lavender-colored nightie. In his wake there seemed to be a strange fog floating in the air. As my consciousness cemented I realized it was just an enormous cloud of baby powder that he'd generously applied to his anus-hole to help pamper and placate a painful anal fissure - resulting from some unbridled male-on-male action he'd been privy to while in county jail some weeks ago. Q-ball, they called him; on account of his missing testicle. The smell of baby powder was pleasant though, and the soft color of his gown did make me feel a bit more at ease as I prepared myself for Monday mourning. It's true what they say, the presence of a woman does make life more fragrant.
All of that happened some 16 hours ago. Jesus.
He's not here tonight - he told me he needed a "girls' night out." You should've seen the outfit he left here in. Wearing fishnet stockings, red lipstick, heavy mascara and long fake eyelashes, stinking of untold amounts of mousse and hairspray, he stomped out hurriedly in silver stilettos, walking like both of his legs were asleep. Before he slammed the door I heard him say something like "daddy's going fissuring tonight." Or maybe he said fishing...or fisting.
It's true what they say, the prescience of a woman does make life more flagrant.
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