Darqstar (darqstar) wrote,
Darqstar
darqstar

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Old movies are great...

It's fun watching a movie where people get all excited over making 75 dollars a week. It really is. "WOW, a WHOLE 75 dollars ALL FOR ME? God, I can finally afford that mansion on the hills... send my kids to college... get a new car! Seventy-five dollars, I am KING of the WORLD!"

In other news, Goten has given up his great love for my shoes. Instead, he has turned his affections to my electric toothbrush. No, I'm not kidding. See, the brush has a two minute timer, which is good, cause I never knew how long I brushed my teeth and was actually cutting it close. So, now I know how long I should brush them. But, standing in front of a mirror, watching yourself foaming at the mouth for two whole minutes is dull. So, I have a habit of sitting down on the sofa while brushing my teeth, so I can either watch TV or subject my husband to the lovely sight of my drooling white crap down my chin. ( Zane, I know what you're thinking, and yes, it is evil)

My husband loves me very much... very very much... enough to put up with watching me foam at the mouth like a rabid badger. And no, I have no intention of sharing my hypnotic secrets with anyone. So don't even ask. Bwah hah hah

Well, anyway, the last few days, whenever I sit on the couch to brush my teeth, Goten leaps up and starts sniffing the toothbrush. At first I thought maybe it was the toothpaste... maybe it had a smell that appealed to his delicate palate. A palate so finicky, that enables him to reject perfectly good cat food, but tells him that his own ass or the ass of another cat is really good stuff So, I put a bit of the toothpaste foam (easily harvested from my chin) on my finger and held it out to him.

He sniffed it and gave me a disgusted look. Which I must say, really hurts my feelings, that my spit and toothpaste is lower down on his palate of delight, past his own anal sweat.

So, it's not the toothpaste, it's the actual electric, vibrating, toothbrush. He sits on the end of the couch (Which pisses Chrissy off to no end, cause damn it, that's her couch!) and sniffs at the toothbrush. Then he purrs. Then he sniffs some more. Purrs some more. By the time a minute and 30 seconds is up, he starts to bump his head into the toothbrush. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've been happily brushing your last molar, and suddenly had about 16 pounds of cat, slam his head into the toothbrush, thus lodging the brush into the very back of your gums, right where the jaw hinges, and the bristles are resting right on that very soft part of your mouth and just... spinning away. It's my own, personal, little slice of heaven.

Then, he will sit there, head resting on the end of the toothbrush, mindless of my screams of pain, purring like crazy, with a totally blissful look on his face.

He shows no interest in the toothbrush once I turn it off, except to give me a look like, "Aw, thanks mom, ya killed my vibrator."

Somewhere in this story is a "Sex is more in the mind than it is in the genitals" analogy, but I'll be dipped if I'm going to point it out to you. Find it yourself.
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