On days like today, I feel ready to throw the proverbial towel in.
My God, you are off your game. You dangled a participle. Should I call 911?
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Instead, I just keep coming back to my little box, way in the back of the closet, that, in the darkness of the closet, I open. There it is...the faintest of faint lights. A glimmer of hope? Maybe.
Phhhttt. Don't let him kid you, Cozy. It isn't a Glimmer of Hope. It's the glow of Corri's Pointy Witch Shoes, warming up for work.
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Oh, and by the way, the story fails the analogy to physical intimacy on many levels.
Only when you are sitting in your Center of the Universe Chair, munching on pizza, and utterly pissed off because the pizza box is empty, and you aren't full yet.
