Smarty pants?

I guess this whole thing is all about me anyway; quite self-indulgent, isn't it? Unless, of course, you are Kevan, smarter than a speeding whip and a walking (sitting) editorial on every imaginable current newsworthy subject. Check out his blog: www.slow-and-boring-suicide.com

Speaking of smart or not, tonight P. told me that I'm not as stupid as I present myself to be. Haha! Very funny. I know I can come across with the big-boobed bombshell, especially when I miss the doorway entering a room and gash my shoulder on the door jamb. And I really do hate trying to figure out mechanical logical pieces of machinery, so that's when I capitalize on the wide-eyed helpless look.

But he'll figure it out. Or rather, it looks like he already did. But so what?

I know that when a jar lid is too tight, I can wrap an elastic band around the rim a couple of times and no problem. But it's much more fun to ask a guy to do it instead, since he's sooooo strong and handsome! Then I get to watch his arm muscles flex, and the whole thing works out in my favour.

Whatever brings the most fun. I like to let my inner nature become slowly apparent. Think of me as a lollipop with a tootsie roll in the middle.