So, here I am, sitting at my blank blog screen, doing the same thing I do every morning: asking myself where do I start with my words and what am I feeling?
The moment I begin to type, I hear, "Honeeeeeeeee ... d'you wanna see something?"
"Oh gawd," I muttered, expecting to see something that I know is going to be too much of a struggle for my indolent eyes.
my new nerve pain medication is whipping my ass ... open eyes ... please open!
"Why do you say it like that?!"
As per usual, I answered in all honesty, "Because I'm sure it's going to be something I don't wanna see."
Papi laughed and walked toward me with only a t-shirt on, giggling all the way.
the tranny terrorist has come out to play ...
My love stands straight in front of me, with a Brace Face smile of grandeur, and lifts his ...
**shudders** ... still cringing with that word ...
... leg up on to our chocolate, leather ottoman in a Captain Morgan pose. Papi then proceeds to stroke the new fur that is growing like an out of control ivy on the inside of his leg. It's like it is an alien being, who's only purpose in life is only to inch toward the groin, then continue beyond until it has completely taken over mi esposo's body.
"Do you wanna touch it? It's soft," my love teased, while stroking this new found coat like a beloved treasure.
"No, I think I'm good."
i'm sure it will distract me during our next make out session ...
As I write about the Tranny Terrorist and today's harassment, I can hear Papi in the washroom trimming the peach fuzz that is my love's minute, facial trophy of pride.
I'm pretty sure my love believes that if you trim it, it will come.
I keep checking the top of Papi's head in fear that there may be a male pattern balding spot. It haunts me every day! When I see a part in my love's hair, I panic!
My Trust List friend had asked me what my fear is around the changes, and this is what I described:
If this is what I desired, I would have stayed in the closet.
However, my friend said there are plenty of really good looking F-Ms who want to look their best, and that perhaps, I should look at some of those pictures.
i guess it's true that i'm not happy unless i'm worrying ...
Papi has gone through The Great Breast Disappearance and I still love mi esposo, even though I no longer have a pillow to rest my head upon.
The poison, that my love injects into the already perfect body I adore, is edgingly invading his body. Every new hair mocks me yelling, "Helllooooo Andréa!!! We're coming to git'cha!"
Yet, I still love Papi.
I'm pretty sick. I love the Tranny Terrorist who likes to flaunt these day to day changes in front of me, with the sole intention of razzing his wife.
I remember when I was a little girl, and my grandpa used to tease me until I cried. My family said, "If he didn't tease you, it would mean he doesn't love you."
I'm pretty sure I married my 'grandpa'.
He was bald, fat and hairy.
2 differences however.
My love never insults me, and I don't need to deal with a penis.
These would be deal breakers.