Tranny Terrorist

I actually have less tears now that Smokey is gone, because he's no longer suffering.

The crazy part is, it's Papi's cat, and I did all the crying!

I suppose it's because I just bonded with him while living upstairs with him during this damn sewage flood.

hey!  we have painted walls in our suite now!  the restoration is movin' right along ...

However, Papi was confused about not having the tears and feeling ease.  Enough so, that the transgender terrorism started within 6 blocks of leaving that tiny, empty body to be summoned to ashes.

It's a bit of a blur of all that Papi launched into, but I know it had something to do with the moustache.

Moustache?!

Peach fuzz!

I remember a friend of mine in high school, when he was just getting his moustache.  I would stare at it non-stop because I just wanted to stroke it.

It seriously looked like peach fuzz and I wanted to pet it like the caterpillar it was.

It really is the same as Papi's, but I can't entertain touching it on my love.

Mi esposo now has a chin hair that has come out dark, as opposed to the grey ones that seem to be the only invaders of that chin.

So there's my love, looking in the rear view mirror, one hand on the steering wheel, driving with one eye on the road.

jeeeeeeeeeezus!!!!  i still have fucking p.t.s.d. from the fucking motorcycle accident!!!! eyes on the fucking road please!!!

"Can you see it?!?!"

"Honey, please watch the road!"

"But can you see it?!?!?  It's there!!!  It's dark!!!"

Begrudgingly, I looked.  I really only looked to get that bugger to keep looking where we're going.

my gravestone will read, 'here lies Andréa; the 4th m.v.a. finally killed her, but she saw the fucking chin hair.'

"OK!  Yes!  I see it!  Now will you just pay attention to the road!"

the panic attack was beginning it's ever so brutal job at robbing me of my breath ...

"You didn't really look did you?!"

"Yes I did.  I saw it.  Glad to see you're back to being the Tranny Terrorist, my love."

Papi says I like it.  My love thinks I like that I'm having the shit scared out of me on the road, and that I like the taunting and poking at my wounds.

I have to admit, I do find my love a major brat that gives me giggles.

I wouldn't want to egg on Papi, but those chuckles are there, deep inside, staying low enought that I'm able to give my love 'the look'.

You know 'the look'.

The one that accompanies your pinched lips, a raised eyebrow and forehead, while spewing the sideways glance that says, "Seriously?!  You drive me fucking crazy!"

But if I didn't like it, I would leave, now wouldn't I? 

You know what I'm saying?

Dear Papi:  You're a pain in the ass, and I love it.