I love the feel of sand between my toes.

Except when I’m walking through a desert. One unfortunate side effect of singledom is the dry spell.

So I’m sitting here, licking my lips, practically whimpering at every muscled man whose cologne triggers a fresh bloom of pheromones, spreading a warm flame low, low, oh-so-low in my gut.

Now, I could produce a rain storm real quick by going out to a bar, picking up some random loser and jumping on him in the parking lot. Meh. No thanks.

But when you’re thirsty, even dirty water begins to look rather tasty. Suddenly that not-so-hot acquaintance looks a little more like that diamonds-dappling-in-the-sunlight lake.

So Susie here made a bad decision. In her defense, she was thirsty.

Several weeks ago, I invited a guy I know over to my apartment to “hang out.” His kisses are hot, and we’d kissed before. He’s not ugly, but in general, I don’t find myself wildly attracted to him.

Hey! I was THIRSTY!!! Gimme a break.

Less than an hour later, I couldn’t wait to get him out of my apartment. I was now thirsting for something else – a shower and a change of my sheets.

Bad? No. It was terrible, horrible, no good very bad. At first, I was all about it. But first, he kept pausing to leave the room during foreplay. As soon as he took his shirt off, I was like I’d jumped into that cold lake after all. I was suddenly not interested in sex.

Women are like fire. They require a spark and then warm up gradually. But once you throw water on them, forget it!

Not to be a body snob, but his just didn’t do it for me. Not the chest, not the rest – especially the rest. I don’t want to get too critical, because a man has no control over what he’s packing. But his balls were low hangers. If I’d have been blowing below he could’ve knocked me out with those things.

Toss in a little first-time awkwardness, the fact that he is someone I consider a friend and his profuse sweating, pelting me in big, salty drops …. Ick.

I was relieved when he couldn’t stick around and didn’t want to cuddle. I’d tried the dirty water and frankly, I’d rather go through a dry spell. Besides, my longest dry spell was two years. What’s a few months so far?

At the end of the children’s story, “Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day,” by Judith Viorst, I’m pretty sure Alexander’s mom makes his day better with a cookie or something.

*sigh* That’s the problem with being an adult. I made my bed, now I have to lie in it.

But I’m changing the sheets first.

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