I hate to ask this, but I just must. Why is it that I feel most amorous when the weather is damp. Every time it rains I start to feel tingly, and this is especially true when the temperature turns sultry (I was going to say “slutty” but I stopped myself on time to make the correct word choice.) Is there any connection, in your opinion, between humidity and horniness? I am hoping that you are having a nice summer.
“Is there no limit to people’s excuses for wanting to indulge in all manner of abomination?” This is a quote by the broadcaster, Rush Limbaugh, by the way, taken slightly out of context.
“Tingly,” you say. If part of you feels tingly, I would expect you to get to your medicine cabinet for a neat dollop of Calamine lotion, not to the nearest corner for a split-level flag down.
You claim that your naughty bits bother you whenever it rains. If you were an old girl who suffered the douleurs of arthritis when it was wet out, my heart would leap out to you, but honestly, yearning to do the dirty doughnut as a result of extra humidity, takes the biscuit.
And you have the temerity to blame your shameful ways on low-pressure zones.! My plea to you would be to do voluntary service at a Monsoon camp to discover what wet weather does to most of us. It make us moody and withdrawn. It gets ordinary folk down on their knees in their living rooms toiling over a picture puzzle, or stuffed in a piece of furniture reading a third-rate thriller.
Is there a connection between horniness and humidity, you wish to find out. How would I know?I haven’t been horny since the sixties, and then only on the day JFK was put to rest.
Neither am I an expert on the female barometer. The last time a woman brushed up against me happened, if memory serves, at a fleamarket when I was fourteen. (and I believe it was my auntie on the move to pocket a bauble.)
But I am not a woman and much in mystery about their ways. I don’t pretend to know what makes their toast harden or their out-of-the-way places gush to the forefront. For that you might want to Read Martha Stewart. I would just comment that you are one odd lady.
I know this didn’t help, and I’m sorry
Dear Ron, (if that is your real name)
I read your reply to my heart-felt question. “Odd” you called me. If I am odd, you are wackier than a ping-pong paddle. Just because I have needs, does that mean I should hide them!? I live with a body like everyone else, (or almost everyone) and I want the world to know it!!! Yes, I have places that leak, So what!!! Your place that leaks is right between your ears.
Here I was, trying to be nice, and you take me for a not so good person, like I should be ashamed of myself. I have lived with shame too long. I had a husband, away now, who always blamed me for everything. Nothing was ever to his liking. He would blame me if the sun came up one day later than another.
Now that he is in a coma at our corner hospital for the last six months, why should I deprive myself of the good things in life, like a man who wants me, who is hungry for me, who would eat me up in a forkful if he could?
I don’t know what is wrong with you. Didn’t you know that we live in a post female period. We burned our bras, don’t you remember? We proclaimed our sexiness. And if you were asleep, look it up on the web, buster. I think you are a man that has problems meeting women. Get out more. Take up Canasta. Live a little!!!
Fed Up With You