Archive for the 'Flirting' category

Is Your Vagina Irish?


Perhaps it should be. And the good folks at Betty Products are making it easy.

For a mere $14.95 Betty Beauty, whose slogan is “Color for the hair down there,” offers their “Lucky Betty” bikini hair dye kit, which comes with a clover-shaped stencil in case you’d like to re-shape the bush. (Calling this topiary would probably be funny on two levels… but I digress).

Go Green, ladies! How else could you can be environmentally correct, and celebrate St. Patrick’s snake accomplishment at the same time?

And just imagine your guy’s surprise when you let him SEE that he’s going to get lucky.

Discuss Is Your Vagina Irish? in the Forum.

National Underwear Day


Today is National Underwear Day. Which immediately prompts the question, do you wear any?

Not wearing drawers is usually referred to as “going commando,” a reference to an old military custom of free balling while in uniform.

But, soldiers have a solid, practical reason.

Standard issue military underwear is made of cotton, which soaks up sweat and holds it like SpongeBob on steroids. Carry a backpack for a few kilometers of jungle, or desert while walking in sweat soaked underthings and your crotch gets rubbed raw.

I suspect this results in reduced enthusiasm for fighting.

A bevy of young ladies interviewed by the New York Post for National Underwear Day opined they were more comfortable when they were able to let their nether regions breathe. They also claimed that it was one less thing to think about when getting dressed.

Ladies, I’m all for keeping it simple. Women normally over think these things. Men simply look for things to eat, and things to blow up. Women seem compelled to find the number of fat grams are in each bag of Dorritos, and to obsess over exactly the right frillies to wear on a first date. But, I digress.
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Thanks for the Memories


Memory. It’s a pernicious thing.

For one thing, it’s selective. We summon up specific memories to reinforce our current moods - which is the reason for the classic “I love you, I hate you” 2am drunken booty call. We somehow forget that she was a certified loon, and only manage to remember that she was ready to try anything… at least once.

But for every time a recollection makes us smile, there’s that other one. The one we can’t seem to shake. The one that revolves around the dumbass thing we said when our subconscious became unguarded for just that small fraction of a second that it took to verbalize the dumbass thing.

And the worst part is that once the words are out there, they never go away. Those words, even when forgiven, hang suspended in memory for eternity.
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