Dear Madlibbin' Parasailer:
I must confess that I awaited your response with bated breath. Though I may have shocked my devoted readers into a rare silence (actually, a thank you goes out to Cyberfish for leaving a comment and not making me feel like a freak), I am much relieved that you didn't find my pickup line to be bold or presumptuous. That you find me charming is rather marvelous. I blush. Your comments remain delightful; you know how to please a lady's demure sensibilities and for this, I thank you.
I've decided, dear sir, that I shall ask you five questions at a time. Though I have dozens of questions for you, the last thing I'd want is for you to feel overwhelmed. The first five questions follow in no particular order. Remember, how much or how little you reveal about yourself is entirely your choice. I've been told that not everyone is an exhibitionist* like me.
Onto the questions!
1) If you could spend one year of perfect, blissful happiness but afterward would remember nothing of the experience, would you do so? If not, why not?
2) Would you call yourself "emotionally constipated"?
3) My friend ES asks, do you prefer boxers or briefs?
4) Do you LOVE your job? Why or why not?
5) Finally, gasp, I have inlaws?! Or do you mean you have inlaws?! Gasp!
*dear readers, I don't mean to say that I flash my bits in public. That's gross. I simply mean that I enjoy sharing details of my life with complete strangers on a public, online medium, as I'm doing right here, in this post. This, I understand, might not be true of everyone.
Interestingly enough, I've always seemed to attract exhibitionists. People love flashing me. It's extremely curious and disturbing.