Smith + my bed = hot times
Ok, so last night may have been one of the best dreams I've ever had. I was on my way to my 5 year high school reunion and the boy said he wasn't able to go. So I got out of the car by myself, for some reason dressed in a tuxedo--top hat and everything. This led to my feeling out of place. I thought to myself and decided to call Smith to the rescue. She declares, "Well, Angela is over, but she's boring. I'll be right there." Shortly after, Smith shows up...in a limo...in a blue, lingerie dress. Really, she was hot. By this time I'd taken off my tux and was now wearing a pink shirt and tan shorts. I felt a little out of place again. Smith knew how to fix this. She whippped out a Marilyn Monroe-esque white dress and a long white fur coat. She waiting until most people there were within hearing distance before she proclaimed "You're worth it, honey."
Later, as a gaggle of the preppy girls walks by, Smith takes the moment to cheer me up. She made an innocent (ok, really snide) comment to the lead girl, who at the moment was crying because her highschool boytoy/football star was either A) fat or B) no longer interested. Either way she looked up at Smith and told her something nasty. A follower declared that she need not take it personally. Smith, however, starts wailing: "Oh! Oh! Of COURSE I'm going to take it PERSONALLY! Why oh why doesn't she like ME?! " At this point Smith is writhing on the floor in mock anguish. A great performance.
I grab us a couple drinks. Smith declares I've definitely slowed down since the night before where, she claims, I had 66 shots. She proceeds to pull out an alphabetized list of shot names. Alabama Slammer, A-Bomb, Blow Job, Buttery Nipple, Cement Mixer, Chocolate Monk, Cranium Meltdown, Duck Fart, Earthquake, Eskimo Kiss. It went on and on. And at some poing in the conversation she declared "Sween really likes the 2002 Cristal." What was the relevance of this? Who knows.
In the end, fun was had by all thanks to the Sexsmith. Except those who were a-holes in high school. But I don't care about them anyway. They're stupid. Smith--you can come to my high school reunion any day.
Later, as a gaggle of the preppy girls walks by, Smith takes the moment to cheer me up. She made an innocent (ok, really snide) comment to the lead girl, who at the moment was crying because her highschool boytoy/football star was either A) fat or B) no longer interested. Either way she looked up at Smith and told her something nasty. A follower declared that she need not take it personally. Smith, however, starts wailing: "Oh! Oh! Of COURSE I'm going to take it PERSONALLY! Why oh why doesn't she like ME?! " At this point Smith is writhing on the floor in mock anguish. A great performance.
I grab us a couple drinks. Smith declares I've definitely slowed down since the night before where, she claims, I had 66 shots. She proceeds to pull out an alphabetized list of shot names. Alabama Slammer, A-Bomb, Blow Job, Buttery Nipple, Cement Mixer, Chocolate Monk, Cranium Meltdown, Duck Fart, Earthquake, Eskimo Kiss. It went on and on. And at some poing in the conversation she declared "Sween really likes the 2002 Cristal." What was the relevance of this? Who knows.
In the end, fun was had by all thanks to the Sexsmith. Except those who were a-holes in high school. But I don't care about them anyway. They're stupid. Smith--you can come to my high school reunion any day.
posted by KC in Katoland at 8:19 AM
1 Comments:
Funny. It might be something that happens when your wedding nears. I had a dream that Panko was on our honeymoon. For some reason, she was there and stayed in our room. Hmmm...
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