if my computer crashes and you never hear from me again, it’s Mr.Q’s fault

warning: this starts off all warm and fuzzy and ends with the deflowering of my computer.  Stop after the 4th paragraph if you only want the warm and fuzzy.


Mr. Q and I both had the day off work today.  We both have tomorrow off for the Magpie follow-up appointment with the ophthalmologist and a follow-up interrogation interview with the head master of the lovely independent school that we’re considering.

So we took today off and dropped the Magpie at day care.

What followed was a leisurely breakfast at an awesome little cafe farther afield than we usually go, but so worth the drive.  We spoke of the independent school, local housing opportunities and travel over caffeinated beverages and organic eggs.  We drove home and discussed work, politics, the health of various corporations and the aging of dogs.

Apparently, by the time we got home, we had turned into the average couple who has passed their 13th wedding anniversary and 17th year together: we ran out of things to say.

So, as conversation is wont to do in the absence of small children when a couple has been together for eons and it’s only 10am, it went for the jugular.

It turned to the topic of cock rings.

Mr.Q and I, went headlong into a heated discussion of colours and styles that went into the hypothetical (beyond our collective, we-met-when-we-were-17-and-19 first hand knowledge).  And, really, I think I grasped for the briefest of moments what it might be like to live within a few miles of the Bloggess.  Or at least the same zip code.  (Penises, scorpions & broken fingers, oh my…)

For the shortest of moments, we decided that cock rings would really be more appropriately called cock clamps.

But then that sounds too much like cock clap.

And then everyone – should you choose to tell everyone – would think the clamped cock in question was infected and this seemed to defeat the whole purpose of getting a cock clamp in the first place.  So, whoever named it cock ring was on the right track.

But Mr.Q and I still had differences of opinion when it came to varieties.

And then, of course, I had to turn to google.

Holy crap – these things can be practically jewellery.

And, really, jewellery on the whole – regardless of its function – is very pretty and nice to look at.

So, now I’ve been surfing google images of sex toys, sometimes modeled (filter? what filter?) and re-surfing to get the link for this post.  You’re welcome.  If I haven’t picked up a virus – real or computer – by now, then I need to buy shares in whatever spyware/virus protector Mr.Q installed on this computer.

He must have known that one day I would google cock rings.  That’s why he provoked me with his devil’s-advocate opinions…

And if I do have a virus?

My computer will be smoking a cigarette on its way out the door.

2 responses to “if my computer crashes and you never hear from me again, it’s Mr.Q’s fault

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