Dispatches from the department of dubious sexual metaphors…

Dear Coffee,

It’s OK. I forgive you for hopping out of your cup and onto BOTH the white shirts I’m wearing today, first thing in the morning so I have to walk around all day with three faint splotches of coffee on my chest.

I know you didn’t mean it. You’re just enthusiastic, and I love that about you. I wish more things were that eager to get inside me.

Though, for future reference, you don’t have to do it on my chest. I will happily swallow you, then beg for more. But if that’s what you need, you do you, my love.

All is forgiven, for you are my one true savior.

Love,
Smug

The Smug Hunter’s Field Guide

See, the deal with my particular self-hatred is, I have BEEN clingy (more on this later), and I talk too much, and these are things I’ve hated about myself. So as my potential suitor, YOU can’t be clingy and talk too much, because I will hate it even more in you.

I am attracted to guys who are…not unavailable, per se (though I’ve clearly been there). But definitely less emotive than I am.

I’m like a skittish baby deer, and if I feel like you’re coming on too strong, I’m taking my fluffy ass back into the wild. None of my meat for you.

…OK, wait, I lost control of the deer metaphor.

Don’t be clingy, is my point. Once you’ve pushed me to thinking “OMG, PLEASE STOP TALKING,” we’re probably done.

“Do you take this man for a few hours?”

When I told a coworker I’d hired movers for the first time, she jokingly said, “Oh, you hired husbands! Good for you!”

I did hire husbands, and it’s exactly the relationship I wanted: Two big, strong men to service me for a few hours and then get the hell out. 

(We’ll just gloss over the whole “paying them” thing. That’s where my metaphor gets a little gross.)

There’s a metaphor for that.

My ears are too small for iPod’s standard earbuds. They just don’t fit, it’s too tight.

Insert metaphor here. (And there.)

Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me…

Last night I finally got the kind of hug I needed. It didn’t last as long as I wanted it to, but it was still lovely.

(I swear this is not a metaphor for sex. If I ever get laid again, y’all will hear about it. No, literally — it’s been so long that you’ll probably be able to hear me when it happens.)