At Least I Didn’t Take the PictureConversation with B last night while he was helping me untangle my hand spun that tangled like a *^#!@! when I was winding it. “Please don’t take a picture of me like this. I don’t want this publicized in any way.” “I’m not going near the camera.” “OK. Good.” “Can I just write about it?” “I wish you wouldn’t.” “But you’ll win brownie points with my internet friends.” “Oh, well in that case…” Related posts:10 comments to At Least I Didn’t Take the Picture |
 Knitter. Spinner. Fiber enthusiast. Wife. Stepmom. Cat wrangler. Dog herder. Blogger. Photography enthusiast (so very amateur). Monkey business. Slayer of laundry. Not a good cook.         
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Dammit, I’ve been sold out again!
I thought you wanted to earn brownie points!
yeah, but still…sold out…can’t believe it…feeling manliness slipping away…
Would you rather I blog about your stinky poots? Will that restore your manliness?
I think calling them “poots” takes away all possible manliness.
Oh right. Loud, ripping, gripping, stink bomb farts. Better?
Jeez thanks, only if you want me to talk about yours…
Well, in truth, I’d talk about mine before I’d talk about yours.
At least there won’t be any pictures of the poots. Thank heavens for colorless gases.
B – You are still a man’s man. Forget that crap about helping ladies with lady stuff emasculating you. You are at your manliest when you set aside what others might think about you and go to the aid of your beloved, whatever pansiness that might entail. What could be more fucking manly than that, other than killing a vicious lion with just your bare hands while jumping through fire of course.
Good Job B! We won’t make fun of you. Much.