We shall begin with a very cute message my sister passed on to me, source unknown:
It’s Spring Cleaning Time… I know you don’t clean your computer screens very often, and it’s hard to do the inside, so here is my present to you.
Cute, yes? (If you missed it, click on the “GIFSoup” link above.)
And now let me set the stage for a very different kind of flash player. Ahem. One that’s not PG-13. If you’re not up for suggestive language, do not click to go below the fold.
You walk into your bathroom to find the air heavy with moisture. Someone’s in the shower, and as wisps of fog curl around your ankles, the scent of your favorite, musky soap tantalizes your nostrils. He — sorry, my flash player, my sexual orientation — is humming to himself in a voice that seems familiar. And now a few words slip into the melody and they’re in a British accent. You still can’t quite see who is singing, but somehow you’re certain you needn’t be afraid.
“Babe? That you?”
Before you can take offence at the diminutive choice of nicknames, three large, pink objects appear on the glass. The top two rub away moisture and retreat.
Into the space created by his hands, a pair of crystalline blue eyes come into view — eyes that manage to seem both piercing and far-seeing at once. A hint of mischief enters them. One tawny eyebrow quirks. “Why don’t you come in here and lather my…Walther PPK?”
Your fingers find the top button of your blouse. You’re trying to project Confident Modern Woman, so you quirk an eyebrow in response.
“Oh. Is that what they’re calling it these days?” You divest yourself of shirt, skirt, the four-inch stilettos that didn’t hurt in this morning’s marathon. You saunter suggestively to the shower enclosure, keeping eye contact the whole time. You reach out to curl your fingers around the handle…aaaaaaand cut.
Cut, cut, cut, cut, CUT.
I can’t go here any longer, peeps. Much as I’d love to recall Daniel Craig like this:
and construct a virtual monitor cleaner for you in the above vein, I canna doo eet. I canna!
Why? Well, that’s a reasonable question, and one I will answer since, like many literary agents, I find rhetorical questions off-putting. Do not click on the page 2 icon below unless you’re prepared for the answer.
Remember Tart Rule #67: you cannot unhandlebar the moustache.