No, it's Taconite Boy that has me concerned. You know, when he came home singing along to Kelly Clarkson I thought perhaps his man card had just dropped out of his wallet. But then, after many years of cajoling, Trihubby finally heeded my advice and took his muscle cramped body to a massage therapist. An hour later he called, extolling the virtues of massage therapy, with three more appointments booked.
"I smell good" and by good, he didn't mean Old Spice body spray. He meant lemon lilac, aroma therapy, good.
That's nice honey.
The man card is in serious jeapordy.
The smell of burning masculinity fully erupted last night when Taconite Boy directed me to iTunes to hear some samples of Clay Aiken's new album, which happens to be a cover of some the sappiest love songs ever.
Frankly the whole male wing of the tri alliance has me a little unnerved. What with reports of
Gentlemen, there was a time when we ladies could expect this
from the male tri community.
For the love of all things good, can someone please go sit in the garage and smoke a big ole stogie, listening to Motley Crew?
I mean if you want to harden that taconite body into a Wisconsin Iron Beast, we'll need a little something to work with.