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November 4, 2008

A Sexy Outfit For You!

At a recent football game, a neighboring high school performed a halftime dance routine at a football game that “stunned and appalled” one Tiny Kingdom woman.  She found the routine inappropriate for public viewing, as the girls wore mens’ button down shirts and ties and proceeded to “suggestively shake and shimmy.”  Later they tore off the shirts and revealed dance costumes underneath.

I have not seen the routine in question, but I’m an expert in both football dance routines and shimmying in a button down shirt, so I have a little something to say about this topic.

From 1982 through 1985 I was a member of the Dorians, the Tiny Kingdom’s dance team.  In keeping with our mostly Republican, all white demographic, we performed routines so conservative that we might as well have been the toy soldiers in The Nutcracker.  There was nary a wiggle or waggle to be found.  Then we’d march off the field and watch while the other teams shook their asses and laid it down.  I found it highly frustrating.

We scored a coup in the fall of 1985, when the band played “Thriller” and our choreography called for us to turn our backs to the stands and shake our fannies from side to side, using our hands to accentuate the motion.  For a few seconds during each show I felt like a Solid Gold dancer, but it was a small reward for two years of marching with the occasional kick-ball-change.  At least our high-kick line rocked.

Here’s a picture of me performing an exceptionally sexy move for us:
dorian1
and a picture of the kick-line in motion.  I should totally have been pointing my toe.
dorian2

But what does this have to do with the current situation?  Well, as it turns out, the other high school disagreed that their costume and routine was suggestive of a striptease.  Again, I didn’t witness it.

But about three years ago, when Bill and I decided to add some pizzazz to our sex life, I bought a book that was full of ideas besides hopping in the bed and going at it.  I wrote all about it here.  The book promised that if I walked around in one of Bill’s button downs and a pair of high heels, he’d appreciate the show.  The tip was so successful that I shared it with my Bible Study, all of whom have reported amazing results.  (One attendee recommends inviting your husband home for lunch, where he finds you vacuuming in this getup.  They never made it to the bedroom, and she suffered rug burns that she says were totally worth it.)

Unless you have actually worked as a French maid in the past and held on to your uniform, the button down shirt is the thriftiest provocative outfit you can wear if you’re getting ready to make googly eyes with your lover.  Sexier even than the Garden of Eden costume, because in my experience, a man likes to rip a little something off a woman and fling it on the ground.

So I’m thinking that the idea that the dancers’ costume had no sexual overtones was a bit naive.  My scientific experimentation has proven the outfit to be titillating and seductive, and that’s exactly what I intend each time I put it on.  If you were a Dorian and saved your seamed fishnet pantyhose, well, that just adds an extra layer of entertainment.

Of course, if you wear this outfit too often, you may end up with one of these:
dorian3

Let’s all take a vote. You can try out the shirt and hip shake to gauge its effect before voting if you need to.  In fact, I encourage you to do so.

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Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: All About You

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 6:49 pmBlast From the Past,Googly Eyes: Make Love Not War,School Today: Eraserboard Jungle21 comments  

November 2, 2008

How We’re Spicing Up Our Marriage

Every morning and every night, Bill brushes his teeth and spits into my sink.  He doesn’t use water to rinse the toothpaste fuzz off his mouth like civilized people do; he wipes the minty froth onto my hand towel. I’ve put up with it because I love him but it’s raunchy.

The other day I caught him clipping his toenails into my sink.

“Dude, you’re grossing me out,” I said.  “Fingernails and toenails don’t go in the sink, and they certainly don’t go in my sink.  What’s your deal?  We’ve lived in this house for over ten years and you can’t keep your nasty shit in your own sink.”

“Toenails can too go in the sink,” Bill said.  “But I’m just having problems using my sink.  I keep migrating over and using yours.  I think we assigned them wrong in the very beginning.  What say we trade sinks?”

So after fifteen years of marriage, we’re making a change.  The shaving cream, razor and Scope will be on the right, and my favorite cup that holds my toothbrush is heading to the left, along with the zillions of skin cleansers and creams I require to look this devastatingly youthful.  Under the cabinets, the tampons, cotton balls and VO5 are moving to the cabinet formerly inhabited by the Speed Stick, extra toilet paper, Irish Spring and Pert.

Switching bathroom sinks might sound mundane to some, but it’s made for a fun weekend so far. The romance of sorting and tossing outdated toiletries a deux was surpassed only by the fact we keep bumping into each other naked as we head for one sink, then switch to the other, in a tiny space. We’re treating it as the start of many scintillating changes in our relationship.

I figured I better put up pictures of this because don’t you love seeing what’s in people’s bathroom cabinets?

bath4
During the sorting of the toiletries…

bath3
Not running out of shaving cream anytime soon. Thanks, Costco!

bath1

The glamorous side

bath2

The manly stuff

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Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: In Which Bill Is Right

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 9:03 pmGoogly Eyes: Make Love Not War9 comments  

September 5, 2008

Friday Funny

Michael Phelps At A Young Age

image001

I don’t know who to credit for this and would love to know. Perhaps I can incorporate it into the sex talk!

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 8:56 amGoogly Eyes: Make Love Not War6 comments  

June 30, 2008

The Unlucky Goat

You want to make sure you get your money’s worth when you send a kid to camp, so once Drew returned we had all sorts of questions for him. He’s not the talkative type. We took all three boys out for pizza and waited until Finn and Porter were off playing pinball before we began the interrogation. How was the food? Who were his friends? Did he get homesick? What were his favorite activities?

We got the most shocking response when Bill asked, “What was the most exciting thing that happened while you were there?”

“Well, camp has this goat, and I don’t really know why, but it hangs out with the horses, so I saw the goat a lot since I ride horses a lot. One day they had to take the goat to get his balls chopped off.” Drew dissolved into naughty giggles.

Finn wandered back and slid into the booth next to me.

“You didn’t watch them do it, did you?” I asked, wondering if the camp was more rustic than I’d previously thought.

“No, they took him to a goat doctor and he cut off the goat’s balls.”

Finn clapped his hands and laughed. “Nothing like that ever happened when I was at camp. Maybe I should have gone instead of playing baseball.”

“What’s even funnier is the reason they had to chop off his balls,” Drew said.

“It’s more polite to say that the goat was neutered, honey,” I said.

“Why did they have to chop off the goat’s balls? I mean, neuter him?” Finn asked, although I was pinching his thigh in a way that clearly meant “Do not pursue this topic because I have not explained the facts of life to your brothers and I’m sure not going to get into it here at La Dama before our pizza arrives.”

“They said you have to do that so the goat won’t pee himself,” Drew said matter of factly.

“You mean the goat will pee on himself if they don’t chop—neuter him?” Bill asked. “That’s what they said?”

“Sure.” Drew was still giggling and Finn was covering his eyes with his hands while he shook. “Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure they were giving you good information,” Bill said.

******************

Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: From The Mail Box: Finn At Camp

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 8:45 amGoogly Eyes: Make Love Not War4 comments  

May 3, 2008

LBR

Bill pointed out that “LBR” doesn’t have to be an insult.  It could also stand for “Legs, Breasts, Rump” and used to describe your lady.

“Dude, my wife is smokin’ hot!  When she comes in the room, she brings the LBR.”

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 12:59 pmGoogly Eyes: Make Love Not War3 comments  


Welcome to the Kingdom

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I'm Anne Glamore, wife, mother, lawyer and blogger. I have three boys, and I'm desperately trying to train them to become Southern gentlemen, but that may be an unrealistic goal. At this point I'd be ecstatic if they'd quit farting at the dinner table. If you're new here, check out the Readers' Favorite Posts below or browse through the Categories. I write about my attempts to teach the boys about peckers and sex (which we call "making googly eyes"), my struggles with hepatitis C and spine surgery, the boys' adventures with fire and pets, my mom's death from ovarian cancer, my love of cooking (with plenty of recipes) and anything else that crosses my mind. Join me on Twitter or StumbleUpon or Email me. I'm happy to speak to your group or club.

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