Conversations at my house on Wednesday ususally go something like this
Me: Do you have to go potty?
Nolan: No
Me: Then why do you keep holding your penis?
Nolan: Because there is a mouse down there.
Me: Okay, just checking.
Sometimes I wish I had a penis…but I’m pretty sure that, like all of my other extremities, I’d hit it a lot on stuff. That would hurt and probably lead to a lot of penis holding. For a variety of reasons.
I’m having difficulty typing this due to keeping one hand on my penis. It’s not some sick, sexual thing; I’m just a little freaked out by the mention of a mouse, and feeling a need for extra security in that area. Even though I don’t live where the mouse is.
When I hold my penis, it’s not always ’cause I have to pee. Sometimes, sure. Just not always.
Oh, and *never* because there’s a mouse down there.
If i had a penis i’d pet it a lot probably.
Sometimes I wish I had a penis…but I’m pretty sure that, like all of my other extremities, I’d hit it a lot on stuff. That would hurt and probably lead to a lot of penis holding. For a variety of reasons.
I’m having difficulty typing this due to keeping one hand on my penis. It’s not some sick, sexual thing; I’m just a little freaked out by the mention of a mouse, and feeling a need for extra security in that area. Even though I don’t live where the mouse is.
I know. It doesn’t make sense.
Sometimes life just works that way.