There is a babysitter at home watching Henry nap; my plan involves the following exciting activities:
~ Get a wax
~ Buy condoms from Walgreens [Mom and Dad, close your eyes]
~ Get quarters from the bank
~ Do laundry
~ Unload the dishwasher
~ Talk to a potential client about a ghostwriting proposal
~ Write (if time permits)
So I'm laying on the table "relaxing" and a woman is ripping hair out of my body with a strip of hot wax. I'm doing this for Rayne, because I know he appreciates coming home to a regular woman who takes care of herself instead of Attila the Hairy Hun.
|Move aside, woman, I must wax!|
Photo Credit: Michael (banlon1967)
(I also enjoy getting on the scale afterwards to see the three pounds I've lost. It's magic.)
Anyhow, the woman is quietly grunting each time she removes a strip of wax-covered hair, like Monica Seles finishing a two-handed backhand. I mean, come on. I don't have that much hair.
Ninety dollars later, I'm headed to Walgreens, which is also for Rayne. I forgot my birth control pills when we were in Boston this weekend, and I'm petrified of becoming pregnant again. If I'm teetering on the edge of sanity, getting pregnant right now would be a free-fall onto the craggy rocks of lunacy.
Photo credit: ForthDude
I could ring a sales associate and ask him to free some condoms for me. I think not. Or I could buy the deluxe box of 50 condoms. But however much Rayne might want to, I don't think we are going to have sex 50 times before I start a new pack of pills. Sorry, honey.
But, hark! I hear yon wet laundry calling to be put into the dryer. Until next time....