How is a Catholic girl to blog about s—, you ask? I know you did not really ask, but I will tell you anyway. She researches the many euphemisms out there to describe the nasty, without having to actually use the forbidden word. Oh, believe me, there are endless lists of them, enough to please a whole church filled with sinners who can continue to avoid saying what they actually mean.
As I approach my 50’s, I think about my, dippity doo-da history and what awaits me in the next 50 years of my life. Truth be told, I was a late bloomer. Having grown up Catholic and under the direction of a very, very, very (did I say very?) strict Puerto Rican father, bouncing the pogo stick, before marriage, was out of the question.
Interestingly enough (Grrr), this waiting to, dip the wick rule before marriage, did not apply to my two brothers. Something that did not sit well with my sister and I and the reason for continued therapy.
It is very difficult to re-train your brain and body from believing that, buttering the muffin, is bad, bad, bad, to suddenly feeling that it is ok to enjoy, feeding the kitty, every night. The button does not just switch that easily from one day to the next. Often, the button actually stays stuck in one place for a while, until you have to force it to switch with a pair of pliers.
Lucky for me, my switch was not faulty and I have had a very enriched life of, dipping the donut, with my husband throughout our marriage. I look forward to, hiding the salami, for many years to come.
Doctors and therapists encourage married couples of all ages to continue to, stuff the taco, at least three times a week. Really? What happens when your body stops cooperating and you can’t, bury the bone, as often as you would like?
I heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend, who, heard it from another that there are certain, aids out there to help the aging population, go fishing, more often. But, the same friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another, said that you can only get 4 of these aids per month. Seriously?
Who do the doctors and insurance companies think we are? Monks?