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Saturday night.  Home, as usual.  There’s a bag of Barnum’s Animals crackers in front of me.  I have finally convinced my daughter she should go to bed and now I sit, alone, sipping on the remnants of Yellow Tail Cab/Merlot ($5 at Lee’s Liquor), testing the quality of said “crackers”, flipping channels, and wondering why I suddenly find Bradley Cooper highly appealing.  I want to rub my palms against the stubble on his face as I come within a centimeter of grazing his lips with mine.  I want my fingertips to slip across the lines that crinkle from his eyes when he smiles.  I want, I want, I want…  I’m beginning to think my turkey dogs have more than just preservatives shoved into those cylindrical shapes.

I’m also beginning to think that I desperately need to get naked in the presence of a man.  A naked man would be ideal.  Or at least one who would voluntarily become naked after I remove my clothes.  I would truly hate to pull out my shotgun and force the issue.  Again.  Those men never return my calls.

Fuckers.

I check on my girl and discover that she has yet again decided to disrobe and make herself comfortable in my bed.  Fortunately, she’s a heavy sleeper and I have no problems duck-taping her back onto the ceiling where she belongs, after which I decide that the animal crackers would taste much better if dipped in Nutella, and indeed they are.  I only eat a handful because, thanks to my hefty exercise schedule and healthy eating habits, I’ve dropped nearly ten pounds since the beginning of the month.  Without giving up wine, (obviously).  Because if I have to give up everything, then forget it.  I will keep a few extra pounds.  I will learn to be perfectly happy with a bubble ass and I will keep a shotgun hidden near my front door.

This is my Saturday night.

This is my life.