Game, set, match…

Not many people know this. I can be a Super Class-A bitch when the necessity arises. Those scratches in your 60’s Porsche? Yeah, that was me.

I did it with love, of course.

There is nothing I love more than a ‘playa’. Goddamn, a man who can’t even end an adjectival doing verb with an ‘-er’. You may not think it to look at my plump eyelashed doe eyes, but I eat men like that for breakfast.

High protein diets aside, to be frank, it’s not very often that I cross paths with a man who’s trying to prove a point to himself and the entire man-nation at large.

Most men a 30 y/o lass dates, have finished matric a while back.

I have an inconveniently astute bullshit radar. Sometimes it’s entertaining to see if you can reform a veteran lust-addict. Sometimes.

Until you’re dating and he posts pictures of his shenanigans online. Conveniently labelled “Bestest Girlfriends 2011: fun times in Afrika” lest you find navigating the tumultuous path of Facebook entertainment all too challenging for a brain whose functions exclude the realm of technology.

Thank you for that. We really appreciate your assertion to the Universe that you do, in fact, have a jiggly flaccid appendage hanging between your legs.

What I really relish about aforementioned ‘playas’ (snigger) is their self-sabotaging need to display their indiscretions. Really, could they make it any easier? We’re not blonde, we do know how to work this electrical-powered-lit-keyboard-thingie.

We particularly enjoyed that picture of you and that delightfully boa-clad anorexic woman on the exact day that you said you were visiting your mother in hospital.

From the measure of dilation in plural pupils, it must have been some heady drug that made you do it.

You see, even whilst balancing my two perfectly proportioned bosoms and a carafe of Russia’s finest vodka, you never quite know what I am doing. Because I can multi-task.

And never be stupid enough to post it online.

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