no. would i like a woman to drive from texas to florida in a diaper so she wouldnt have to stop for piss breaks en route to the home of the girl im banging so that she could jealously kidnap my ho? yes.
i mean no.
drama is what happens outside of the home. your house should be your safe place. home base. and your girl should be the one who when she sees you frowning tells you its going to be ok and then slides her hand down to where its supposed to be.
granted, a female astronaut is probably a very different beast from you or i. probably close to super human, if human at all. and one might laugh at her diaper decision, but it is quite practical if you think about it, which is something i cant stop doing.
one summer i was an ice cream man guy. every day i had to drive around a different part of the northwest suburbs of Chicago (people usually dont buy ice cream man ice cream two days in a row). i got lucky and got a super great girl to be my sorta summer girlfriend and i would do nothing but think about her on my long drives home from buffalo grove and mundelion through the cornfields trying to make it back to south barrington before the 30 year old van broke down.
and as i sped through those empty illinois roads id hum to myself something from nebraska or something
hey little baby is yr daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone
hmmmm mmmm i got a bad desire
oh oh oh im on fire
that summer it was so hot that some days the ice cream melted IN the freezer. i drove barefoot with nothing on but sunglasses and cutoffs. basically i looked like one of tom sawyers friends who had stolen an ice cream truck (mis)singing bruce springsteen with a ridiculously huge afro:
well the boss dont dig me so he put me on the night shift
eight more hours to get back to where my baby lives
in the wee wee hours your eyes get itchy
radio relay towers wont you lead me to my baby
underneath the overpass hit the party lightswitch
hey ho rock n roll deliver me from nowhere
i remember wanda when she was employed
behind the counter of the route 60 bobs big boy
fried chicken on the front seat sittin on our lap
we’re wipin our fingers on the texaco road map…
so i wonder what diaper astronaut lady was singing to her self. i wonder what scenarios were running through her head. possibilities that never ended up that way.