a) I have my
b) The cheeky Gilf I was chumming with last night at the Martini Ranch either never took me up on my offer of "a night of gentle, nuanced lovemaking followed by a Greek-themed breakfast in bed" or slipped out of my flesh lair under cover of darkness. My current cosmopolitan fog makes recalling which nearly impossible. If you're reading this my sweet, trusting Estelle, I'm simply not ready to start a family yet. And I meant what I said about the ice cubes. Please think it over.
c) The womens' Australian Open quarters are nigh. Nothing like a green, symmetrical henhouse bursting with 6'2'' Amazon Priestesses who can hit balls 110 mph to get one's pelvic blood circulating.
d) You're still supporting me after that check bounced. I'm sorry but when a Botox Party beckons, I must heed that wicked Siren. I am but a man.
As for this evening? It's shaping up to finish something like this. Can I have a ride?