"O S M R puppies, C M P N?"

So one of the things I did last weekend was go to this "Easy Advanced Body Work" class that was for kinky people only. It was very cool and the (I want to say "girl" but that would be showing my age) lady that taught the class was really great. Easy techniques to relax and work muscle groups. (I have been shopping for a reasonably priced massage table ever since.)

She is an acupuncturist and some other eastern type treatment specialist with her own practice here... so when my back continued to get worse instead of better and Master said I had to go to the chiropractor I begged to try out this instead. So I go permission to go to her instead. On Monday I went in and got punctured and then manipulated. And I feel better, all better.

While she is active in the community, her practice is primarily with vanilla people, it was wonderful to go somewhere where I did not have to filter the "Master" word out of my vocabulary and have someone who knew what a collar was and took the time to compliment me on it.

If you live locally and want a referral...

***

Last night I was in a not too uncommon prickly mood. Perfectly comfortable to do my own thing, to crank out an "adequate" meal. But Master could sense I was a little snappy, a little irritable and was all over it, deliberately poking at me just to watch my hackles rise up and giggle maniacally when I would swallow it down over and over. He was having a mind fuckers super fun night.

He kept poking me. (Literally poking, jabbing a finger into me.) And every time I would say, "Yes, Master, is there anything I can do for you?" He would grin and giggle a little evil cackle. Finally I was just barking "WHAT?!!"

He gave me this wordless narrow eyed glare when I told him what his meal options were. But when I asked him what he would rather have, he just stared some more, clearly enjoying the squirmy feelings I was having. He finally grudgingly settled for the hamburger steak, rice and salad... and as I placed the meal down in front of him, I said... "If there is a meal you would like to have tomorrow, now would be a good time to tell me what you would want so I could make sure to have the ingredients ready." Bastard just gave me another evil wordless grin and shook his head and began to eat.

The poking commenced again after dinner, and I gave up on all pretense, just ignoring him the best I could, avoiding his eyes and clenching my teeth, resisting the urge to rip his head off.

Finally he ordered me up off the couch and dragged (drug?) (I never know which one of those is correct, neither sounds quite right.) ...made me go to the Mall for a forced march up, down, back, forth, up, down, back, forth for about an hour.

At one point he paused and stared at the empty store front that had been the pet store for as long as he could remember and I pointed down the long hallway... "They moved down that way." As we continued marching he asked if one nail salon was where I got my nails done and I pointed another direction, "No, they are down that way."

We found the puppies and paused and stared at them longingly. It has been a long time since we had a dog and we both miss it, even though we are both realistic enough to know that with no kids and both of us working full time that a dog would be pretty lonely all day. But we still stare at puppies with a kind of wistful "awwwww" thing. We were only a little way from the nail salon and I pointed down there and idly commented, "That is the place I get my nails done."

So we proceed, and Master pauses in front of the nail place and stares at me accusingly. "You said the puppies were down here." Um... duh... didn't you see the puppies we were staring at, talking about, going awwwww, dude... what the fuck???? I point back toward the pet store. "No that is the pet store, this is the nail store."

Growl... "You pointed over here and said..."

"No I didn't."

oops.

(Never, never, never argue. Mind fuckers love to argue. Crap, crap, crap.)

So there is this poem...

A B C D puppies.
O L M R not puppies.
O S M R puppies.
C M P N?

So rather than argue, I grin and point pack toward the pet store, and say... "O S M R puppies, C M P N?"

And no matter what Master said to prove I had was wrong about what I may or may not have said, I refused to say anything other than, "O S M R puppies, C M P N?" for the rest of the forced march through the Mall.