Dear Inner Saucy Wench,
You are indeed a complete tart. You ogle young men with tight buns, you fantasize about ravishing co-workers, you imagine wearing a black leather catsuit (& looking hot in it) to that S&M bar downtown wearing a collar.
You are entirely untrustworthy, infecting my brain with evil desires, waylaying my plans to achieve sainthood by 40. You call my purity and devotion into question with your high heel wearing tight skirt fantasies and lustful glances at the blonde who serves your morning latte.
Sometimes I wonder why you’re even here. What purpose do you serve other than to make my life seem safe, static, and dull? Why do you exist at all when all my comrades seem happy enough within the realms of monogamous passion and devotion.
If I knew the answers to those questions, I wouldn’t be writing this missive…
Perhaps you and I will become friends some day.
For now, I wish you’d just go away…
Doll,
Sainthood? Come on now. We’ll have none of that talk coming from you.
Your inner saucy wench is there to prove that you are none of this safe, static and dull stuff you speak of in your missive. Your inner saucy wench is there because you have a pulse.
Quite frankly, I’d worry about you more if the wench was nowhere to be found.(But maybe I’m just saying that because I realized “Wow. The inner saucy wench club finally has two members. Woo hoo!”)
XO, P
You know you would miss her if she was gone, don’t you?
You know you would miss her if she was gone, don’t you?
Sorry, my inner verification wench seems to have magically hit the button twice…
Could I borrow her for a bit? My ISW has been missing since the baby was born! I soooo miss her.
My inner saucy wench had me dreaming about Julian McMahon all night.
Alas, I have no inner saucy wench anymore. It’s been replaced by an inner sleep deprived bitch.
Fucking bummer.
Sometimes I wish that my husband had an inner sexy swashbuckler to indulge my inner saucy wench. But he’s not that exotic.