Fiction Handicap Dating
I despise, loathe and abhor the creepy chick syndrome game, “What if your fictitious husband loses a limb, goes blind, goes deaf, develops an allergy to pussy or winds up in a wheelchair?” This is how I want to spend my evening, pondering acceptable handicaps my non-husband may or may not get?! It’s a no-win situation; in every game there’s always that one altruistic dame who dates handys for sport, making the rest of us look like Cunt of the Year recipients. Predictably, each bird’s list does a 180. As long as I don’t have to roll him out of his wheelchair and on top of me, I can sit on his face; if he’s flaccid and crippled from the waist down, he can finger bang me. As if that’s an upside.
Published at Six Sentences