The Over-Educated Nympho

It all started with me picking a fight with Sweet Cheeks. I was pissed because she was four hours late to my pool party yesterday and then she only stayed for less than twenty minutes. Blondie didn’t show at all. I was pissed at both, and called Sweet Cheeks on it yesterday (while at work and via text messages because I hate confrontations of any sort and if it weren’t for email or text messages I would never be able to confront anyone of significance in my life).

She promptly got pissed back at me, which just pissed me off more. An hour and twenty text messages later we agreed that she would come over after work tonight so we could discuss all the really difficult stuff in person. I had no idea what “difficult stuff” she was referring to, but I figured it was bad enough that I took a Xanax halfway through the afternoon in anticipation of whatever the hell she had to tell me.

Sweet Cheeks came over after work and suggested we take a couple beers down to the pool to talk. We did, and she looked really nervous. Shit. What the fuck was going on?

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No, not that itch that says GO FIND MAN NOW. The itch that says “that man had better have been lots of fun because now you earned yourself a urinary tract infection and you’re going to be out of commission for a week to think about what you did, young lady.”

It’s like because your mother can’t keep tabs on you anymore, your body has a built-in mother/guilt that reveals itself as a UTI. Your body grounds you from having sex for a week because your mother can’t ground you herself.

Well at least when your mother grounded you, you could flip her the finger (not that I ever did, she scared the shit out of me) and slam doors and ignore her at the dinner table. But what do when your own pussy is the one copping a serious sass-itude?

Nothing but white cotton underwear for you! Disgusting cranberry juice all day long! AND WITHOUT THE VODKA.