Madge
To say that Madge was proccupied would be a gross understatement.
Ever since her accident, Madge just wasn't the same. Once a bubbly, busty blonde with Long Island nails, Madge was now becoming more and more like her mother.
Now, Madge's mom was a nice enough lady, but she had a lot of rules. No pets. No eating in the living room. No hair products aside from shampoo and cream rinse because hairspray left a film on the bathroom counter and mousse and gel attracted gunky filth to the grooves of their caps and were gross if they ever spilled. No sitting on the floor. No sitting on grass. All fun must be quiet fun without any dirt whatsoever.
Madge had hated her mother. As a child she used to gain great satisfaction by placing a tiny piece of dirt or a spec of sand in the shoes in her mother's closet. He mother might never know, but Madge would. This gave her great pleasure.
Madge wouldn't even dream of doing that now. In fact, this little trick of hers caused her great anguish and she began scouring her own shoes and encasing them in plastic bags lest anyone do the same to her.
As recently as last week, Madge had had a steady boyfriend. Bob was a patient fellow who lasted a year after the accident thinking that she'd get better. But the quality of the sex was suffering and therefor so was Bob.
Madge's battle with disorder and filth was never ending. Bob found her very attractive and he enjoyed his access to her body. Although it had become quite clear that, even at the moment of climax, Madge could not stop thinking about cleaning. One particular evening she could not help but shout out her inner conflict in the throes of passion.
"OH MY GOD! THAT'S GOING TO BE A HUGE MESS FOR ME TO CLEAN UP!"
This was hard for Madge as she actually liked sex very much. Pretty soon she began to fantasize about covering her entire home in plastic and designing easy clean sex smocks that could be wiped down with disposable Clorox wipes. This is when she bagan to think that her grandmother, who had decorated her home with plastic slipcovers and plastic runners, was not so much a paranoid neat freak as she was a sex fiend. At least, that's the way Madge saw it.
Bob, however, did not enjoy this plastic fetish. After sustaining some pretty serious plastic related injuries and tiring of the post-coital clean up routine, Bob left. It was probably the clean-up song that pushed him over the edge.
That would be hard for any man to take.
Ever since her accident, Madge just wasn't the same. Once a bubbly, busty blonde with Long Island nails, Madge was now becoming more and more like her mother.
Now, Madge's mom was a nice enough lady, but she had a lot of rules. No pets. No eating in the living room. No hair products aside from shampoo and cream rinse because hairspray left a film on the bathroom counter and mousse and gel attracted gunky filth to the grooves of their caps and were gross if they ever spilled. No sitting on the floor. No sitting on grass. All fun must be quiet fun without any dirt whatsoever.
Madge had hated her mother. As a child she used to gain great satisfaction by placing a tiny piece of dirt or a spec of sand in the shoes in her mother's closet. He mother might never know, but Madge would. This gave her great pleasure.
Madge wouldn't even dream of doing that now. In fact, this little trick of hers caused her great anguish and she began scouring her own shoes and encasing them in plastic bags lest anyone do the same to her.
As recently as last week, Madge had had a steady boyfriend. Bob was a patient fellow who lasted a year after the accident thinking that she'd get better. But the quality of the sex was suffering and therefor so was Bob.
Madge's battle with disorder and filth was never ending. Bob found her very attractive and he enjoyed his access to her body. Although it had become quite clear that, even at the moment of climax, Madge could not stop thinking about cleaning. One particular evening she could not help but shout out her inner conflict in the throes of passion.
"OH MY GOD! THAT'S GOING TO BE A HUGE MESS FOR ME TO CLEAN UP!"
This was hard for Madge as she actually liked sex very much. Pretty soon she began to fantasize about covering her entire home in plastic and designing easy clean sex smocks that could be wiped down with disposable Clorox wipes. This is when she bagan to think that her grandmother, who had decorated her home with plastic slipcovers and plastic runners, was not so much a paranoid neat freak as she was a sex fiend. At least, that's the way Madge saw it.
Bob, however, did not enjoy this plastic fetish. After sustaining some pretty serious plastic related injuries and tiring of the post-coital clean up routine, Bob left. It was probably the clean-up song that pushed him over the edge.
That would be hard for any man to take.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 11:21 AM
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