"I just lived a monstre diary entry!"
Princess has a unique spin on things.
Really, we ran to the fetish shop early this afternoon to exchange the too-large collar, explained all the same bits that Guillaume didn't get to Seb this time, were hit on by the usual salesman who talked us into more corset-try-ons, one waist-only vynil number that he was rather insistent I try on without a top, er, overtop.
I wouldn't have minded so much, maybe, but Seb wouldn't have handled that very well, as I defied our dear dominant salesguy and pointed to the "jeune innocent" staring rather openly at the latex undergarments with the interior dildo settings.
Racing off with the better-fitting collar in tow, we stalked up five flights of stairs to the Sivanada yoga school.
It smelled wonderful. Tea and incense and somebody cooking proper vegetarian food, recipes of which will apparently be e-mailed to me in the next newsletter.
Princess insisted I take the "normal" trial class with her and not the "for dummies one" and I guess I did okay, the teacher grinned when he asked for beginners and only my hand went up.
I got most of the positions, managed to hold most of them for most of the full time, except the crow which I just don't get, and the headstand which I don't know the eight steps to, so I did the dolphin until my arms hurt.
Then we raced back here, a slow molasses relaxed sort of race, gobbled down onion-and-tomato and fresh-from-the-P�rigord egg omelettes, packed up laundry, ran down to the laundromat, stuffed two machines, ran to the grocery store, bought wine and chocolate cookies, stopped off at a mailbox to mail my insurance stuff for the door, ran home, put the wine away, did the dishes, ran back to the laundromat, put stuff in the dryer, disturbed people by jabbering incessently in english, then ran home with all of it neatly folded.
Then princess raided my cave and the suitcases that have laid there abandoned for a handful of decades, covered in layers and layers and layers of dust.
She's going through the faded black and white photos of someone's wedding, family vacations, babies in bonnets and things, that we found in the top faded-green cardboard case.
Mr. Pyke is egging her on via ICQ.
There's a fetish video playing on the new/loaned vcr that was filmed at the fetish shop.
Princess pointed out that the girl chained to the wall looks like Buffy.
Right. I see we're getting the point of the video.
It's time to get goth.