Caterwauling

Sherri asked:

What are/were your relationship dealbreakers?

It’s a case-by-case basis. For some, it’s the fact that they’re still living and breathing.

I mean, I get frustrated because one bolts for the exits at the first sign of turbulence and I get mad at another because I’m trying to hit them on the ass with the door and they’re too dumb to start walking. I want to wallop one with no sense of humor and yet strangle one who can’t take anything seriously.

The obvious dealbreakers, of course, include a wife/live-in/steady. Kids usually put me off, especially those who might live there part- or full-time. There’s a reason for that, and it’s not that I (completely) hate other people’s offspring.

But the not-so-obvious dealbreaker, and one that’s only a recent addition, is a lack of chivalry.

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Subtitle: Adhesive-side up, day 2

Good GAWD.

OK, so I managed to get to the auto parts store for some antifreeze/coolant for the vehicle. I popped the hood (broke three nails on the hidden lever) and filled that bitch up. End of story, no?

No.

OK, I got the fixing-my-car stuff down, but flailed at the “being a girl” thing today.

All right, when hipster jeans became all the rage, I dutifully picked up five or six (OK, 12) pairs. And of course, I had to go find about 30 pairs of scandalous underwear to go under them as there’s nothing more horrifying to me than having one’s gutchies peeking above low-waisted jeans.

I love my gutchies. Really I do. I just don’t think sometimes and wear jeans-appropriate gutchies under suits.

Bad, bad Goddess. *spank*

So I’m standing in this crammed, tiny and obnoxious parking lot today, replenishing my fluids, and MY UNDERWEAR FELL OFF. I had sort of noticed that those silky lil numbers were sliding out of place a bit, as I didn’t have jeans to hold them in place, but God damn it my cooter was catching a breeze and I wasn’t enjoying it! I clamped my knees together and caught them.

I, of course, laughed my ass off and spilled coolant everywhere because of the irony that when I work under the hood, the girly pants fall to the wayside.

And yes, I did go home and change my gutchies, before you even ask. That’s all I’d need, to be in the elevator at work with someone important and lose my gutchies. Although, it would be a neat trick if anyone would happen to be in there who would be WORTH dropping one’s panties for!!!