In the interest of playing fair and making up for my last few posts, I'm going to point out my own embarrassments, the little idiosyncratic habits or displays of my own shortcomings. Besides, Jacob is such a good sport about it. Some days I think he's simply happy to be breaking the minister mold-how many ministers do you read about who even shower with their wife, or get nightly lap dances, let alone rip off her panties every chance they get?
I didn't think so.
So...Bridget's shameful habits...
Well...uh....
*crickets*
(whistles and looks at the sky)
Okay, I give. Besides stealing the icing out of every Oreo and eating all the chocolate that crosses my path, I'll cop to the following:
* I bite pencils. Not all of them, only the yellow ones with the gold-colored collar that surrounds the eraser. And I only bite the collar. It'll give you an electrical shock if you do it just right. Which is a little thrill in itself. All the pencils in this house have squished tops with bite marks.
* The inappropriate fondling. I really am awful. Jacob is always fishing my hands out of places they don't belong, out from under his shirttails, out of his pockets, pulling my fingers out of his hair, or his ears. In public. At home I'm worse. I'm a toucher, I make no apologies. On second thought, it's his fault. He's too adorable to resist.
* I'm a human noisemaker. If I'm not playing music and talking a million miles an hour, I've got a range of gasps and hums and various little one or two syllable exclamations that round out my crazy facial expressions. The noises never stop. I don't hear them, I feel them. And worse yet, sex is simply the greatest outlet for all these noises to come out all at once. Seriously. I can't explain it. We can be completely melted into each other and all these little orgasmic noises will come out of my mouth and Jacob will start to laugh because he can't help it. He says I sound like a mogwai. Which would mean that for all those people wanting to know what it's like to sleep with me? Well, apparently it's like being in a bad eighties horror movie.
Right. I did say I was perfect. Yes, I think I said that maybe more than once. I must rethink that. Because the Oreo thing, well that's just wrong.
