Before moving to Assachusetts last summer, my mother lived on a lake in Connecticut. One evening, when she and my step-father were out, my then 15-year-old brother decided to try out a distress signal he'd learned about by flicking the dock light on and off in rapid succession.
That same night, the EPA was taking field samples of an invasive weed that had taken root in the lake. They saw my brother's signals, motored over to the dock, docked their boat and pounded on the door.
They were thrilled to find my pimply peckerhead brother alone and well; they told him as much.
The moral of the story? Signals work. Even if you aren't aware that anyone is watching.
Let this post serve as a cautionary tale for my husband, Chuck, who can't seem to keep his snake in its cage.
No matter what he's wearing.
Word on the street is that an open fly is akin to a wedding bandless finger. Or further evidence that you want to start mimicking and boinking.
Balls in your court, Chuck.
Um, er, the figurative kind of ball that is. You perves!
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