Mexican Wolf Boy?
I've been lazy with beard maintenance. It's such a chore to trim. No matter how careful I am, little hairs fly everywhere and always clog up my sink's drain. I must act soon, because I am beginning to look like one of those Mexican Wolf boys. Or maybe a Pot Head?
Why am I so focused on my appearance? I have a special reason. His name is Tim. We met at Sidetracks in Chicago for Market Days. He's woofy and warm hearted. We are both smitten with each other. In fact, he's coming down to New Orleans just to spend time with me. Four days. SWOON!
It's been quite a while since anyone has leaped over my stringent criteria. Tim makes my long dormant heart go pitter patter. If I were honest, those heartbeats feel louder than a score of beating drums in Africa. I'm nervous and suddenly vulnerable. I am accustomed to being in total control. Thinking of Tim makes my face flash a hot crimson red. Mommie!