Thank you for your nice comments yesterday. You would be a perfect bunch of readers if there weren’t a few of you, an unnamed minority, who frequently accuse me of pandering to my female readers in hope of hearing you go “ooh,” “awww,” “how sweet,” or “You are so hot, I really want to **** you on my kitchen table!” As if that is why I started blogging —
I deeply resent this accusation. As an artist, I use my writing to communicate my inner feelings and creativity, not to manipulate the emotions of fragile women eager to find a man who has the sensitivity of the poet, the wisdom of a philosopher, and the animalistic prowess of a love machine (and is Jewish to boot!).
I repeat. I have no interest in sucking up to a bunch of dames. Just because you might have some curves in the right places and smell like flowers does not make you any more special than my dull, sweaty male readers.
Today’s post will be short because I am caring for Sophia, who is sick. Even though we are separated and she still calls my moving back into the house, while she was away on location, an “illegal squatting,” I feel it is my duty to care for her while she recovers from this debilitating flu. Look how miserable she looks in this photo.
Luckily, she has me to bring her hot tea and medicine.
Oh, I have to go. I think I hear her calling for some DayQuil! But don’t feel bad for me. She’s the one who is sick. I love catering to a cranky woman’s every demand when she isn’t feeling well, especially after not seeing her for two months and hopelessly hoping for some very very needed T&A (see magic orbs)! I don’t need any special “oohs” and “aahs” just because she is the worst patient ever and is sneezing all over the place. Doing a job well is all the thanks I need.
P.S. I bought a chicken to make her chicken soup, but there is no way in hell I’m going to wash this thing. Am I wrong to wake her up to tell her to cook it herself?
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: A Man Who Loves His Friends