spent the supposedly romantic morning grilling my post-work stressed self in line for a warehouse sale. thought the three men in my life would find my romanticism somewhere in that sacrifice for the male equivalent of flowers.i. unfortunately, was not pleased with what surprised me inside as the stench of everyone just got into me, literally and figuratively. discipline, really, is not my countrymen's strong attribute. sadly, no amount of hospitality could save that, at least in our own land.
hemingway, fave workmate tried really hard to please me that day, especially after discovering my new yorker sent his annual extravagance in the form of the very pricey dozen of long-stemmed ecuadorian roses. funny how my dad tried to it from him. he likes him.
spent the whole day snuggling our dead arses in my room, after a much needed deep, soothing massage. grumbling tummies woke us and along with our babydog, Tori, we gallivanted toward the Fort for some grubs. was drooling over thinking of Recovery Food's tuyo, which I awkwardly first tasted with my new yorker, but the saturday partyphiles were brooding there so jogged to another place for a tapa fix\replacement.
same afternoon was scheduled for a steamy session with christian grey but had to change my mind the last time to save something for both him and me. tipid tipid of the happy times, sarah jane.
exclusive, genuine and consistent. that is a valentine.
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