She pooped purple
I’m on the phone with Elizabeth tonight when Rob rushes past me. Grabbing a wad of paper towels, he shoots me a worried look and hisses, “She pooped purple!”
Now you’d expect my response to be “What?” or “Huh?”, but, sadly, I knew exactly what he was talking about. We have already had this conversation once before.
“Rob,” I replied. “That’s not poop. It’s a KONG.”
(obviously, we have this in purple)
I’ve had a massage at the Mandarin Oriental in San Francisco. Sadly, nothing (and I mean NOTHING) was inserted into my vagina for the entire length of my stay.