Thursday, November 12, 2009
Calgon (really I mean Smirnoff) take me away....
Right after I finished cleaning up the kitchen floor (see BLOG below), I did a head count and noticed Bodi was missing. She'd probably jumped the fence to play with Luna next door.
No.
She jumped the fence that backs up to the French swingers. (They're swinging elsewhere these days.) The fence is covered by trees and bushes. Somehow she was able to get over there, but not able to get back. I was in the bushes trying to coach her home while at the same time telling Robin that if I came in to contact with a rat, I was gonna kill her. (Robin, not the rat. I would never kill an animal.)
It was useless. We (Alex and I) had to get in the car and drive to their house. Their gate was locked and we had to finagle it to get it open. Robin had since jumped the fence, too, and had Bodi by her collar.
While walking around their property while they weren't there (a/k/a trespassing), it dawned on me! I was on orgy land! I felt like I nerd girl in "Swingtown", one of the best shows ever. I felt a puckered look on my face, like I had just smelled something God awful, and I do believe I was tiptoeing a little bit. I kept wondering if people had done it here or done it there. Then I saw what appeared to be a condom wrapper. Of course I had to get a closer look. It was some kind of fruity candy wrapper, but I'm sure it was sex related.
We got Bodi home and I rubbed her tummy. I think she must have hurt it a little. That fence was about five feet tall. Alex yelled at me that I should be beating her not massaging her. Oh Alex. Wait until you're a mother.
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This is Robin. First of all, my heroic measures of scaling a fence that is five times larger than I am went both unnoticed and under-appreciated. More importantly, Kim did come home and rub that damn dog's belly (there was nothing wrong with it, not even a scratch) - I, on the other hand, have a scraped up hand, jammed my thumb and ruined my toenail polish - did I get a tummy rub? Anything? No. I hate my life.
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