March 23, 2004

'Ho is where the hard is.

Howdy RoveHos!

People are always writing me notes, and coming up to me at the feed store and sending various NIH employees to our house to ask me just how in the world I can stay with a man like Rovey. And I tell 'em all the same thing - as flummoxy as it is that an ultra-studly Hunkasaurus Sex like him would stoop to let such a rank nobody plumb the deep recesses of his cuddle cavern, he picked ME for his spelunking partner, and I am grateful for any opportunity Rovey gives me to suit up and tunnel the shaft to his snuggle center. Oh how I dig that man! Geddit? "Dig!" Tee hee - I made a funny!

Anyhow, in the time I've known my nekkid poll rat (And by "known", I mean owned the requisite navel-to-knees Jell-O mold of him, sussed out his preferred brand of gentlemanly itch unguent and flavor of Pedialyte, and had the DARPA workmen come in to make his requested modifications of the powder room in my pre-Rovey-cohabitation flat. 'Cause really - until you've memorized the preferred pressure and temp stats for your Blubblenumpkins' Chalupa Night bidet settings, can you honestly claim to "know" him? This RoveHo sez no!), I've learned that it takes a heck of a lot of effort to make passion's Fry-Daddy stay bubblin' hot while my baby's away for days at a time, commingling with steamy G.O.P. glamourpussies like that Condolicious Rice and Katherine "Hubba-Hubba" Harris, not to mention my ex-beau Tucker C., who is irresistible to ladies, gents and wee yippie dogs alike when doused in Aramis and decked out in his breakaway latex bow tie. I try to go along as often as I can, but somebody's got to stay home and stir the tapioca vat, now don't they? (Oooh how Rovey *hates* it when he slips in and feels the slightest hint of un-skimmed pudding skin clinging to his bare bottom!)

But, thanks to trial, error, and some helpful tips from The New Republic, I've figured out a few ways to keep his parts piqued and brobdingnagian libido focused 'Ho-ward. For instance, when I pack his valise for an overnight jaunt to Milwaukee, I'll include some region-specific Polaroid snaps of me all a-frolic with a cattle prod, or squeezing sweet, naughty nothings onto my torso with a tube of Parkay. Perhaps, if I know in advance where my Precious Porky-Pie is going to be resting his pretty head, I'll phone the concierge and arrange to have the mini-bar stashed chock-a-block with a batch of suet crunch cookies and the in-room Victrola cued up to play the copy of "our" Carol Channing ballad I've FedExed ahead. Maybe, I might text a risqué ham sonnet to his Blackberry device, or wood-burn a sketch of my dainty region into the stock of his musket when he's off swan hunting with Justice Scalia. It's really the little things that keep our scrapple pan sizzling fresh, isn't it?

Oh, and while Rovey knows that there's no way this 'Ho would ever think to stray (At least that's what the man said after the last zapping session over at the CIA labs - they even gave me ice cream and some funny Regis Philbin band-aids for my temples for being such a brave little toaster. Reeeeeeeeeegis! Tee-hee!), he still does such sweet little things to let me know he's got me on his noggin. For instance, he'll drizzle his sumptuous hindquarters with Double-Fudge Yoo-hoo and leave an imprint on my favorite pillowcase so I may nestle against the specter of my beloved's cheek as I dream. Or perhaps he'll leave instructions with Andrew Card to sneak in and slip some prescription Dreamy Drops into my porridge and fix it so I'll wake up cinched super-tight to the Special Chair with a DVD of my Cuddlepants performing interpretive tap dances of House Resolutions dressed in naught but his Polka Thong playing on constant loop just inches from my sleep-grogged eyes. So sweet!

Oh, for sorghum's sake! I've rambled on longer than I'd meant, and now I must scoot if I'm ever going to get Rovey's valise packed in time. He's off to a fundraiser in Boise, and unless I take the necessary time, forceps and petroleum jelly to get this potato positioned just so for the photo, I'm not going to be comfy sitting down for at least a week!

Posted by Virginia at March 23, 2004 07:20 AM | TrackBack