Our transition into REM sleep was halted by a familiar whisper.
-“Hey, don’t go there yet,” Emma Bovary said. “Got to talk, buddy.”
Rubbing our eyes, we could discern her disturbing silhouette sitting at the bed’s edge.
-“Hello…What do you want now?” we replied. “Finished the manuscript already…”
-“Yeah, it’s good, but incomplete… Totally incomplete, my escribidor.”
-“What are you talking about, eh?”
-“You did not discuss what women want. You must write the final chapter.”
-“Oh no! Freud couldn’t do it. He almost went crazy trying to grasp it.”
-“Well, you got an advantage… You’re already totally screwed up, aren’t you?”
What do you want me to say? Since her successful debut in the “Revue de Paris” on October 1, 1856, this mischievously meek wife of a rural medical practitioner has shown a rather unusual dexterity at deftly manipulating impressionable men like us to fulfill her basest desires…
Dear readers and fellow bloggers:
Good morning. We would like to tell you that “Emotional Frustration-the hushed plague” is not ready yet as we will write an epilogue titled “What women really want.” We will embark in this most dangerous of journeys through the paradoxically barren desert of the social media, riding on the back of our black and red mouse, under the blistering heat of the ever mutating women’s plight , to reach an oasis.
In order to get some needed ammunition, we prepared a minced lamb Couscous with plenty of veggies, including the bombastic chick peas, with some triggering Merguez (lamb franks) We stashed it carefully in our backpack with some tea leaves and plenty of water. We prayed to God Almighty for mercy and we sat down. Avanti bersaglieri!
Toady we celebrate the third anniversary of our web page. Happy Birthday!
Happy International Worker’s Day to all our readers and fellow bloggers!