. . . discusses the delight/grindstone that is marriage (with a tip of the hat to James Thurber—and me), and the rather odd fact that some men don’t really mind at all perpetuating the notion that they are bestial slaves to their desires.
Perhaps those males ought to join Islam, which in its more radicalized forms posits that, well, boys will be boys, and the onus is upon females to keep their dangerous ankles out of sight.
There is also a theory out there that chicks like Cassie and me are simply bad team players, due to our ideological disloyalty and our, um, “Victorianism.” What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right. We are one uptight pair of Marine wives. Cass:
The Editorial Staff sprang from betwixt the marital sheets this morning possessed of a steely eyed resolve to slake Bill T’s insatiable appetite for sex and relationships posts. It’s a dirty, dirty job but then your hostess is a dirty, dirty girl.
Me too!
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I knew there was a reason I like you. You dirty, dirty, girl.