If you haven’t already noticed, I’m not a normal gal.
In fact, I’ve been frequently called a man trapped in a (seriously hot, seriously female) body. (Actually, the parenthetical part has never been spoken in my presence. I was shaped like a ruler until a year ago when I started gaining weight. Damn you, metabolism!)
This is why, when my then-fiance was talking about the purchase of an engagement present, I liked his first idea best: Engagement Muscle Car.
He had logical reasons for suggesting it (some of which are itemized below). Of course, to me, logic was secondary to the noise a great muscle car made when driven (very quickly) under a bridge or down the highway. Let’s be honest. Muscle cars are hot.
Well hello there! So, you’re on my blog. This is great news for me (you are filling my head with notions of grandeur!), but let’s discuss a few items before you decide whether it’s great news for you:
Item One: I curse. Like a lot. My own husband gets uncomfortable when I go in public (and he’s a mechanic), because who knows when I’m going to be playing with a toddler who has just kicked me in the shin, and screech out “holy fuck, bitchface! What the fuck?!” I can see it in his eyes sometimes, people. He doesn’t even really allow me to be in the presence of his own (staunchly Southern Baptist) mom, because he’s that frightened. (And let’s be honest. He should be.) Usually, he will wince when I’ve just cursed in front of a preacher, or his sister, or some newborn (like they can understand me), and then his eye will twitch, and he’ll be like, “Taylor. Why must you curse all the time?” and my response? “Because fuck you. That’s why.”