It would appear that Harold Camping got it wrong. For those of you who've been away at that crochet convention in middle earth, Harold Camping is the guy who predicted that the world would end on 21 May. Because (and you'll love this) of gay pride! Look I don't mean to point out the obvious but, Darling, with a name like Camping, I wouldn't pick on The Gays. The irony, I daresay, was not lost on any of us.
So in the run up to D-Day, My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Caress My Inner Thigh and I got a touch sketchy. I mean, he was part and parcel of the reason for the destruction of the world as we know it what with his blind commitment to dabbling in (and I quote him) "this faggotry". And with such a twisted view of the world, I knew I'd have a few questions to answer. What with choosing to head my own household as a single mother. And the mothering I've done! (It's embarrassing) The Daughter hasn't yet learned to shell peas.
And so I spent the majority of last week dedicated to the attempt to straighten My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Caress My Inner Thigh out. A selfish pursuit, you might term it, given that I found myself, with The End approaching, in desperate need of a husband.
Our banter went something along the lines of:
My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh: How can you function without a man in the house to guide you, correct you, and firmly chastise you for poor grooming and short-sightedness?
The Pant: Indeed. I beseech you, leave the Gay Way and come keep me in check.
MFEHWHLTNDTACMT: It's long overdue - this faggotry is not proper for one so blessed with a penis.
TP: It's a sin.
MFEHWHLTNDTACMT: It is. But I am afraid my commitment to this alternative way of life is as unwavering as yours is to cake.
TP: But it's not right. Not when you're so lucky to have been born with phallus.
MFEHWHLTNDTACMT: I agree. Will you cure me? Time is running out.
And so I, with the help of The BF, Other Close Friend and Carlos, began my fervent mission in saving My Future Ex-Husband Who Has Less Than No Desire To Actually Caress My Inner Thigh from an eternity of despair.
I took the visual approach. I thought if he witnessed enough images of sauciness, he may give in to my wily ways. But I'm a prude, so I had to use my imagination. The first image you see before you will be my stomach. I swear.
And still he remains committed to his lover. And not to me. I can't imagine why.
But I guess that's okay. Because Harold Camping made just a small error in his calculation. And I've still got until October to change him.