Dub. In the bra. Dub in the bra.
We can make salsa ya know, maybe even some hot sauce. That doesn't mean we're married.
Don't worry. I just took 2 benadryls and beat off. I'm practically sleep texting
He's only a little bit crosseyed.
I think this is one situation where "a little bit" doesn't mean much.
This is the second time in a week I've woken up with your bra in my bed and I've had to sit and think about how it happened.
He smashed a plastic chair leg on a tree stump, threw himself into the side of our metal enclosure, stomped on the wreckage for a bit and then punched the fire.
No. I want him to marry me so we can spend our lives together. I also want a to-scale model of his genitals to mount above my fireplace
I was having the most awesome dream about onion rings and you hit me and told me to stop touching you...WTF?
The sense of comroderie I've built with my liver over the course of this semester is beautiful
I was told to keep my leg elevated. I assume it means to keep my legs on the air, it's like I was prescribed to be slutty
I walked out in my coconut bra, and that's when it all went downhill.
I give all credit to my lucky thong, there's never a time I haven't gotten laid while wearing it
My ex husband is now my side piece. #thisis30
Thx for last night. I've never had so much fun while being told my life decisions are questionable at best.
Who knew sons of strippers would be really feminist boyfriends?
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