Only in my dreams

Yesterday, I found myself a single dude preparing to shag the star of a reality show (a former adversary), when it occurred to me, almost immediately after she dropped top, and  I dropped trou, that I should slide those pants ever so nonchalantly back on and GTFOOT.

  • Boyfriend there?  Problem.
  • Fact that the whole premise of her show is setting up suspected cheaters and filming everything for later use?  Problem.
  • Fact that she and I, and BF and I have a history that makes publicity of my naked ass or a bat upside the head more likely than a private happy finish?  Big problem.

In the dream, my mad fast talking seemed to get me out of the immediate awkwardness, then blessed consciousness made it all moot.

On last nights episode:

In between the real life alarm clock going off,  and an imagined deposition over the existence of this website, I stumbled across a dark haired, attractive woman having a private call in her dark four door sedan on a side street.  She had on a white shirt and capris or something. It was obvious there was nothing else, and she was either sunburned or flushed with color from her phone chat.  She was looking for closure, and my stumbling upon this tableau interfered with that effort.  Or maybe it was the construction workers milling around, pretending that singing the 5 dollar foot long song was all that occupied their attentions.  So, she moved her car.  The scrutiny continued, as did the telephone conversation. Then, wakeys before I could help her.

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