We have just returned from a week at my mother-in-law's house in rural Vermont. It's a newly-built and charming house built right on the shore of Lake Champlain. so it's all scenic and crap. Additionally, my mother-in-law's hospitality was so great that since there weren't enough bedrooms for all the guests, she gave up her own bedroom and slept in a different house. It's safe to say that had I been the host, somebody would have been sleeping on the floor and it wouldn't have been me.
Despite her excellent hospitality it's still weird staying in someone else's house.
First, there's always weird soap and shampoo in the guest bathroom. I'm familiar with this phenomenon. The extra bathroom in my house has whatever weird crap I stole from a hotel or found in the backyard. (Bark, incidentally, is a tremendous exfoliant). My mother-in-law's guest bathroom had two kinds of soap in the shower: a liquid persimmon soap and a peppermint oil soap.
What would you rather smell like? A persimmon or peppermint? I went for a blend, alternating the persimmon and the peppermint on various body parts. I ended up washing my crotch with the peppermint oil.
Wow! That's tingly!
Also, when you're staying at someone else's house, you have to watch their TV shows. One evening we watched my mother-in-law's new Barbra Streisand video, and then an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and then I was gay, fabulously gay. The ho-mo-sex-u-al culture is very contagious, you know.
When I wasn't rubbing peppermint oils on my penis or planning a life of sodomy, fabulous sodomy, I was doing wholesome holiday activities like playing in the snow with my daughter. One day she begged me to help her build a snow man. I was pretty sure that this activity was doomed to failure, given that I had never successfully built one of these snow creatures before, but damned if the snow wasn't perfect snowman-building material that day. I made snowballs and then rolled them along the ground, accumulating more snow until they were the perfect size. We used various plant parts for arms and facial features, topped off by a spiky bouffant of weeds. Soy una artista!
Another day we went to visit a dairy farm. This is the rural equivalent of going to see a movie. We spent most of our time in the calf barn, where the cows varied in age from 1 day to 10 weeks. I must admit, they were pretty cute. Not too cute to eat, mind you, but cute. Everytime we walked near, they'd stretch their heads out from their pens and try to suck on our hands. Calves, as it turns out, LOVE to turn your hands into raw slobbery messes. We also got a chance to feed some of the smaller ones some milk via a bottle. They are messy and insistent eaters, like 80 pound babies.
Then, we had steak for dinner that night. It was cute too.
Overall, it was a pleasant enough vacation, and everyone likes a snowy
On a final yuletide note, someone got to my blog on this week by searching on nude mike in his christmas attire and friends
Soon to be a Christmas special on Cinemax.
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3 comments:
Vixen, with my band-naming abilities, and your quilting flair, we're an unstoppable creative team.
Calves that like to suck fingers can be scary when they grow up (if they get the chance). A while ago I wrote about an experience I had with some, here. It was not pleasant at the time, but pretty funny in retrospect.
(Did bottle-feeding calves make you glad you're not a cow? (Ouch.) Or do such things not occur to guys?)
Badaunt!
Your cow post was excellent. But, no, I didn't translate the vigorous sucking into the corresponding experience for the mother cow until you mentioned it. Hopefully they're built sturdily.
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