“Sa-chan! Sa-chan! Check this out!” The old geezer waved his belt like a parade flag. For the umpteenth time, I reminded him: “I’m Fuua, your daughter-in-law!” Ever since Mum passed, his condition’s been snowballing faster than a TikTok trend.
Last Thursday was peak madness. There he stood in the living room, birthday suit on full display – man’s packing a third leg, I’m telling ya! “Zip up before you catch cold!” My mouth said one thing, but my ovaries were doing the cha-cha. That monster of his made my ex’s junk look like a cocktail shrimp.
The inevitable happened during last night’s blackout. His tongue did the tango in my mouth while his “equipment” redefined depth perception. When that log cabin breached the gates, my brain short-circuited like a fried motherboard.