Another weekend more or less a wash.  Gloomy, pissing rain off and on.  Saturday all I wanted to do was sleep.  By Sunday I was slipping in and out of coma.  Somehow I managed to rouse myself in the afternoon and call the Marines. Friends of the Blog know I've got my own little Army of One I call upon when things look dire, like they did yesterday. 

But when he showed up, looking hotter and scruffier than ever, I was online reading the news from Iran.  Talk about gloomy.  We looked at some of the pictures from the protests I'd posted last week, and he agreed with my thoughts on Persian men, especially this one:


He was like, "yeah, man, effin hot." And then added: "too bad he's gonna lose that arm."

I'm like "WTF?"

He shrugged: "Yeah, they're totally gonna cut off his arm, dude."

"He will not lose his arm!" I snapped, as if I could save it by fiat. "They have hospitals and doctors and they'll fix it and he'll be in a cast for a couple months and then he'll have a sexy scar.  That's all."

But he was relentless. 

"You think the government forces won't be waiting at the hospitals to haul the wounded off to jail?"

I had to admit I hadn't really thought it through.  But I had an answer.

"You don't think he knows that?" I retorted. "You don't think there are doctor protesters he could go to?"

He ignored me.

"He’ll go to the hospital and they’ll arrest him, and they’ll cut off his arm. But he’s totally hot."

I didn't actually hear this last part, because I had clapped my hands over my ears and was busy shouting "LA LA LA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LA LA LA!"

Eventually I'll get my way, I thought.  See, we were looking at the pictures before we got down to business, and I could not focus on the task at hand until I was sure my bloody protester was OK.  I gave it the old college try, but after a couple of minutes in bed, I was like, "take it back. Otherwise we can’t do this.  I cannot have sex while this guy is having his arm amputated by some evil Mullah."

He shrugged. 

I pinned him down.

"Repeat after me: 'it was only a flesh wound.'"

"Mm," he said, "I like it when you hold me down."

Hopeless.