Warning: Men, your heads may explode after reading this post. While I will not be using the word “vagina” I will be talking about the matters of the ol’ front butt. You have been warned. Proceed with caution.
I love Smith. He is the greatest boyfriend, that will do just about anything for me, including buy
feminine products girl’s party favors. He’s also like some sort of ninja in the lady mood matrix. All I gotta do is let out a little grumble and he’s all:
I’ve only consciously discovered this recently, when I noticed that he may be afraid
of my period when it rains in my lady garden. Mainly because I opened my medicine cabinet to put in a bottle of Midol that he picked up for me when he was “doing some grocery shopping.” It joined four other bottles that he had already picked up in the same manner:
Later I found a bottle in the vitamin drawer near a flash light, like in case all hell breaks loose and there’s no power or Midol left on the planet. Seriously, Midol around here is like jars of mayonnaise or ketchup on most other men’s shopping lists.
“Hmmm… do I have mayonnaise at home for my big midnight sub sandwich that I shall make with 42 varieties of meat and then eat said sandwich in my underwears? Hmmm… can’t remember, better pick one up to be sure…”
I mean if tomorrow US currency was changed to trading Midol pills for goods and services, I would be like a Sultan or some shit, so I’m crossing my fingers.
Further proof: we both went shopping together weeks ago when it was actually “raining in my lady garden.” I ran into Walgreens real quick for some makeup while he went in to “start the shopping.” This is what was happening when I found him (in the wine aisle no less).
In conclusion, I may need to do some serious monthly mood charting. As cupcakes have been recently added to his lady garden combat arsenal.
I gotta hand it to him – bish is crafty! 😀