As a child, you were the victim of an overly-aggressive game of "Mommy had a baby and her head popped off!"
Oooh! That's a good one.
A sly smile and, "Joe likes it rough..." could cause some problems but it would SO be worth it.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
As a child, you were the victim of an overly-aggressive game of "Mommy had a baby and her head popped off!"
Oooh! That's a good one.
A sly smile and, "Joe likes it rough..." could cause some problems but it would SO be worth it.
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Or maybe: "As a child you had a weird friend. You said, 'Let's play doctor,' and your friend said, 'Let's play French Revolution.'"
Hubby had his spinal surgery around the time Wesley had his throat cut on Angel. They had to go through the front to work on his spine, and I got a bit twitchy until the scar healed enough to be not so visible.
Was the friend Wednesday Addams?
Maybe.
No-cancer~ma to Burrell.
Pro-video~ma to Jilli.
JZ - backflung.
~ma to Burrell.
Go-go Jilli. You are fabulous with and without cameras.
dear career path: stop behaving like a monday. kthxbai.
No-cancer~ma to Burrell.
Video~ma, Jilli!
Aimee, that scar is so much less obtrusive than I was imagining. I'm glad you're in less pain too!
If I haven't actually said so before, all health-vibes to Burrell.
And lessening-pain vibes to sj.
I'm sure Jilli will rock the video, because, well, when does Jilli not rock?
Aimee, lemme tell you a story. Shopping one day I noticed a beautiful celtic silver ring on a clerk's hand as she and a partner were arranging a display. "That's beautiful, do you mind my asking where you got it?"
"Silver Stream, downstairs," she said, busy but polite.
"Oh, what a disappointment."
She looked startled, and her partner looked at me quizzically. "Why?"
"It's so pretty, I expected a story with it, like, 'I had an Irish grandmother...'".
Her partner dimpled, and she graced me with a tight smile. "I don't tell lies."
I affected a scolded but unrepentant expression, "'S not lies, it's stories. Stories make things sound better."
"Well, it wouldn't be true." Finished with her work, she scurried off to do something else. Her partner lingered, adding final touches, and shot me an apologetic grin. "I like stories, too."
I nodded, and turned away to continue shopping. That day my hair was pinned up in a figure-eight chignon with this. She saw the hairpin. "Oh, that's gorgeous! Where did you get that?"
Beat. Grin. "I had an Irish grandmother..."
Tell stories. Make smiles. Make memories.