This morning I woke to an itchy ass. Thankfully, this is not something I usually suffer from - I've got some dignity left - so I realized some foul play was involved. Indeed, a quick feel of my left butt check revealed that a mosquito had gone to TOWN there, just glutted himself, the sick bastard. Not one or two, but five different bites, and not in the hip or upper thigh region, but squarely on the ass part. And this is what I thought:
A. I'm going to look like a real asshole today trying not to scratch my ass like Homer Simpson.
B. Is it insane to take this mosquito repeatedly biting my butt as a compliment? Like, is my ass to hot to resist?
C. How did the saucy maverick infiltrate my underwear barrier? I'd like to say I wear French-cut fancy panties that basically let my whole ass hang out but its just not true.
D. It is not insane to feel flattered by the attention of a mosquito. I'll take it where I can get it. Yes, this proves I'm still hot and I've got a great ass.
E. A great ass which is now covered with large red protuberances. Which look not unlike ass acne.
F. Screw you, saucy mosquito for robbing me of dignity and my ass of one of its last remining virtues -- smoothness.
If I was single, I would've cancelled any amorous engagements until the bites went away. But because I'm married, I called David over right away, yelling, "Honey, you've got to see my ass! A mosquito's trying to cuckold you!" God, I love marriage.
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