Warning: graphic sex entry ahead.
Rose is currently serving time in a call centre, but may get sprung soon because I know all kinds of people in all walks of life. I found out about the nepotism involved in getting a job in Canada Post. A friend of a friend works there, and his uncle is the plant manager at one of the locations. The only way to get a job there is for an employee, preferably a high-ranking one, to submit your application on your behalf. Now mail sorting isn't more interesting than working a call centre, but the pay is about 60% higher, so.
Last night we were enjoying some bedroom shenanigans when she playfully put a hair clip in my hair, since it was getting in her face. Now, I am the type that likes to give as well as I get, so at some point I was...how shall I put it, trolling the trout-filled waters eating at the Y yodeling up her yoni, yeah, that'll do...anyway as I was doing that I was particularly into it. I think she was, too. Towards the very end of that lovemaking session, the phone rings, and I figure that it could be none other than MacEachran, my contact at Canada Post.
MacEachran is a cool guy with Scottish blood and red, red hair. He met Diana, his girlfriend two years ago, and three months later she was pregnant. The only time I had met her she was four months pregnant and had long hair. And I had forgotten how cartoonishly girlish her voice was. He was calling to tell me that they and their baby (who also has flaming red hair, but very short) were in the neighbourhood and that he had the application for Canada Post. He would call when he was outside and I could pick it up.
Not thinking about my appearance, I ran downstairs to pick up the application, chat up Matthew and Diana, and check out the baby. I couldn't help but notice that they were a little bit stiff this time, and I couldn't figure out why. I took the application and went back. Upon delivering the application to Rose (and feeling like a bit of a winner, actually), she burst into laughter. She said:
"You don't mean to tell me that you went outside with a barette in your hair and pussy juice on your face??"
If I could turn red from embarassment I would have made the intensity of MacEachran's red hair seem like a pale pink. I looked in the mirror and there is was: dried taco crust on the right side of my mouth. I looked like a vampire after a fresh kill. New word: prust = pussy crust.
Think about this. I'm not even his friend, really, just his friend's friend. I have seen him maybe eight times in two years. I'm asking for this huge favour. My face is a foot away from his girlfriend's when my head is in their passenger-side window. And I present them with a barette and facial PRUST. Not even Diana's ridiculous voice tops this scene. AND Rose is laughing at me.
That's fine. It's a good story for her to tell to her best friend this weekend when we visit her, and it's been a while since I embarrassed myself like that anyway. But let this be a lesson to you: Assume that you will be unpresentable after sexual games and you will never suffer the humiliation of the unknown prustal facial.
OH MY GOD.
I know you hate this word but...
DUDE! DUUUUUUDE!
Of course, it could have been worse. You might have had a short and curly on your lip the whole time. It's amazing how you can make a bad situation worse with one stray pussy hair.
My god that's hilarious. Count your lucky stars you didnt' venture to give them and their baby a two-cheeked kiss.