Have I got a cure for you!
You see, dear internet, this morning it is all about me. Isn't that the
But my husband insists I am being a whiner. Get over it, he says as he strips off his clothes to go to bed. (The same clothes I will be forced to pick up if I ever want to see the color of my floor.)
He says he has something that will make me feel better. (I instantly perk up, thinking he has been a good man, buying me drugs and all - fool that I am!)
He waggles his eyebrows, reaches down south and says: