Where's dinner, bitch?
Peering across His desk, in that tone he reserves for one
small slave when she has obviously lost her mind, He replied up the road
Realising dinner was not going to be more forthcoming than
that, one turned on the oven to make dinner
Actually I wouldn't mind a hamburger He said, just as one
started to take out ingredients
Now we haven't had a hamburger since August and right at
that point, having done heavy weights, frankly one would have eaten the cow and
chased the next one down. Besides it was a free day so what the hell. So off
one scampered to the shower for a quick sluice off. Tossing on that damn
skirt... and after pointing out to HIm that the positive reinforcements of food
were not making one any more inclined to becoming desensitised to the air
whistling around one's arse when wearing it... off we set.
We got to one of the local burger joints to find a drive thru
queue stretching back way further than anticipated for a wet Monday night. Sighing
with resignation we waited, for an indecent amount of time for fast food.
Finally clutching our bag we made the run home to try our first hamburger in
eight months.
And oh gods was it vile... mushy, tasteless, lukewarm...
ugh!
It was roughly 800 calories of crap that left us feeling
less than satisfied.
That's the last time He is going to be in charge of making
dinner...
Honestly the body is a temple and He treats it
like the sacred prostitute. Though that confusion might account for what
happened later...
3 comments:
And, and, and....!!!!
The second half of your story is missing.
Oh where's the fun in that. This way you can use your fertile imagination to fill in the story :D
Ok, but I'm warning you my imagination is very naughty.
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