“WHAT HAVE YOU’VE DONE?” I asked my sheepish husband of a little over three years with a tone he well knew meant he was in deep poop. I had discovered his transgressions accidentally not five minutes earlier and I was fit to be tied. “Oh come on now” he replied while trying to soothe me withreasonable tones, (what little masculinity he had in his voice these days conspicuously absent), “they couldn’t sell it if it wasn’t safe.” ...
(story continues from Femmi Weed) Original Femmiweed Story here I stood in line at the grocery store with some much needed things for my empty fridge, and as I waited I looked at the tabloids and their outlandish cover pictures. The best one had a rather ordinary looking college aged boy, and next to him was a voluptuous young woman that kind of reminded me of the secretary that caught my husband’s eye last year. I couldn’t blame her too much for stealing my charming man, and for him I eventually felt pity, but after my seething rage cooled. While she was every man’s dream, she WAS every other man’s dream as well, and I just knew one would steal her away from my former husband when his cash ran out. ...
There is a legend in the back woods, if a young lady of “shall we say” modest appearance were to find a field of yellow and purple flowering weeds, and had the courage to roll around in them naked, she could change her destiny. To me it was just a fairy tale, but I didn’t grow up around here either. There was no proof of this other than the anecdotal evidence of a disproportionally high percentage of attractive and buxom ladies down south near our university, like the one my buddy was dating that danced in my dreams almost every night. Thin flannel shirt, cut off blue jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots, all topped off with a Stetson hat. ...