She stoops to conquer and I stand deflected.
Just don’t think of me (initially) in the snow, nor wheatfields, less in yellow journalistic attack I start takin’ blame for that whole crop circle business.
Yours in mellow yellow,
that is all well and good but has
two requirements that might not be able to be met.
- The presence of woods.
- The desire and ability to get out of a drysuit fast.
On the ocean in the winter I cant see either of those happening.
Admittedly, I know little about female plumbing …
… but, it just seems to me you’re going to fill that little funnel faster than gravity can empty it out. (My only point of comparison is using a too-small small funnel to put oil in the lawn mower crankcase!)
If it really works, how well would this go over as a Christmas present? Or more appropriately … a stocking stuffer!!!
your oil funnel
does not do Kegel exercises. Its not once on and you cant turn it off.
This is coming under the category of “useless clutter for your brain”
Not for a woman it isn’t
This is important stuff for women, Strang, now go watch some tv.
Cheerios or Fruit Loops…
Float cherrios/Fruit Loops in the toilet and let them practice their “aim”. I worked in a preschool for years and it really helps! :>)
I really appreciate Kegel control.
Got nothin' to do with brains.
It’s good for guys to practice, too.
You are correct
You do not know much about female plumbing…
I thought of you a couple of times today, while paddling on my favorite creek. Didn’t need any tires, either.
Can you write your name in the snow?
Dotting your I and crossing your T for extra credit
give me a break for age.
I still can pee.
If it bothers you dont look.
Ha, no i’s and no t’s in
my real name!
It’s all I can do not to pee on myself thinking about CWDH’s poem.
One of my first paddling trips with a
club,we stopped on a narrow spit of land.One of the women said she had to pee,and if we didn’t want to see her butt,turn around.
Having no desire to see any more wrinkles,I quickly complied.
Diverting The Stream
while straddling earth,
a stream to weave conscious on,
and thus stitch in rhyme
pushes passage on line,
to piddle past poet and peon.