Overheard in my kitchen
(Note that it isn't exactly my kitchen. I just hold the title while they hold the derivative precaria.)
"Ugh, this is so obnoxious!" she growls, raising the overcunti skirt of her dress way up over her bellybutton and coiling to reach behind her back.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm extracting a hair from under this thing. Despite I was all careful to put it on so that..."
"O yeah ? You should have to take it out of your beard. All coiled up in there like nobody's business, so now your face is moving incorrectly."
"How often does that happen to you ?"
"I dunno, once a week ?"
"This is the fifth one today!"
"It isn't even my hair!"ii
"Oh yeah ? I bet you never had to fish out one of your curled up twisted beard hairs from under your clitoral hood!"
"Or you know, finding one on the back of your tongue."
"Or in between your teeth!"
"Wait, seriously ?"
"Yeah! And I hadn't even been fucked recently."iii
"O yeah!" and he pumps his fist in delight.
"Why are you so happy ?"
"Dude, that hair made it!"
"Or getting one out of your bra material where it had been poking you in the underside of the tit."
"Ah yeah, that happens to me too".
Because it fucking does, they get caught in the silk and suddenly my shirt's made out of dogwool.
Is there an app for this yet ?
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