Having a Blonde Moment

No offense to all you beautiful blonde folk out there. I’m merely going by the definition supplied in the Urban Dictionary, which is “A flash of momentary stupidity”.

But because I’m a brunette and obviously smarter than the blondes ( :P ), I managed to halt that flash of momentary stupidity before it really got past my lips and into Master’s ears.

Here’s how it went.

He’s a groping kinda fellow. That seems to be a shared trait amongst people of his nature, this tendency to tweak nipples and grab crotches and smack asses… you know, just be fucking irritating take liberties with their property.

And sometimes, especially if I’m busy doing something, it gets on my nerves, like, woah.

I seriously, seriously, SERIOUSLY hate sneaky random acts of violence. Those swats that come out of nowhere when you aren’t expecting them fill me with a momentary rage that would make Joan Crawford look sweet. I handle it though. I mean, he’s aware of it- he just doesn’t much care…lol

I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and repeat as I’m counting to ten “It’s his right, it’s his right, it’s his right” and ta-da! All is right in my world again.

The sexual groping is different though. The majority of the time, it doesn’t even bother me. The majority of the time, the objectification is hot. The disregard of my feelings, the dismissal of what I’m doing, the callousness of his touch = hot.

Just sometimes… man. Sometimes I’m just not there. And after a couple of hours of his hands grabbing at me everytime I walk within reach– Grrs.

So it was that this time, I was bent over picking up baby toys, which, srsly? The least sexy chore. My mind was far and away, planning, actually, on how I’m going to get Babygirl to go to sleep soon because I’m exhausted. I didn’t even notice him behind me.

But sure enough, I feel his hand slipping between my legs, rubbing up in my crotch while my hands are full of blocks and rattles.

The blonde moment came in when I shot upright and said, rather snippily, “Seriously. Dude. Would you knock it off already.”

The brunette moment that saved my ass came about 0.28 seconds later when I started to say “Being treated like a cunt all the time is pissing me off.” and instead I shut my fucking mouth and waited for the repercussions of what I HAD said, and simply counted my blessings for what I HADN’T said.

They weren’t bad, the repercussions. He laughed, told me to get the fuck over it and finished his caveman-esque groping of my nether regions before wandering off, leaving me to give myself a stern talking to on remembering my place and purpose. (So you see Master? You don’t have to. I done already did it. *beams*)

Because I am a cunt. Being treated as such is not an inconvenience. It’s a privilege.

Think that would fit on my eyelids in tattoo form? Oy.

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