I was driving home when what should start playing but that song I Touch Myself by the Divinyls and I was assaulted by the mental image of Ken lying on some pomped up red, heart shaped bed (a la a Japanese love motel) in a dark shift singing/mouthing the song.
It was the very detail of the fantasy(?) that frightened me. Something about how well I could see him writhing about, thinking about his Daisuke…
*Takes a moment*
I have got to pay more attention while driving. Its not like the streets of Houston are not dangerous enough with out adding yet another person paying absolutely no attention to the roads. (Once while driving down I-45 at 70 mph I noticed the woman in the car next to me was eating a bowl of cold cereal).
In other news, Simon stopped by my office (or rather what I call my office—a hole in the wall with a chair, a desk and, when I bring it, my computer) and surprised me by saying, “Wow! I guess this isn’t very guyish of me to notice, but you cut your hair.”
Unsure, I asked, “You’re just now noticing?”
“Well yeah,” he answered, “When’d you get it done?”
I didn’t answer. I was laughing too hard.
I guess he need not question his masculinity after all.