It's okay, 'Hos - you can call off the trufflehounds and the search commission! I'm alive and swell (Well - swollen, really - YOU try spending two weeks straight in calf shackles and see if your skin doesn't feel a skoch chafey for a while. And leave it to Rovey to forget to buy the Gold Bond! I swear he'd forget his own underwear if he didn't have me spray mount them to him every day before work.), and promise to be a more reliable RoveHoPoster - now that I've learned just what can happen if my attention wavers.
See, I've been a bit tied up lately. And by tied up, I don't mean busy - though there certainly has been a fair amount of activity on my part. No, by "tied up", I mean "lashed with my own hair to the Barcalounger D'Amour with my face scant inches from a monitor showing tantalizing home movies from Rovey's pubescent years, pudding dish just out of fingertip reach, and a chastity aid padlocked firmly about my dainty regions". And while I know that sounds a lot like one of our usual "funishments", I assure you, it was MUCH more on the torture than the tease side of things because 1. when Rovey *would* allow me the occasional loving spoonful, it was whipped up with plain ol' skim milk, rather than from Rovey's own special dairy farm "Dangly Dell" and 2. Rovey made a point of scarfing down a whole bunch of cheese and other carefully selected snacks for the duration, rather than the patented prune curry coffee bars that assure quick 'n easy access to the padlock's key.
And why was I being censured and ceintured so? Sigh…
Remember a couple of weeks back when I made a passing comment about the scrumptiolicious blubbleumptiousness of Pennsylvania Congressional candidate Scott Paterno? Well of COURSE his main appeal to me is was that he's possessed of a certain greedy gusto and manly, ample abdomen reminiscent of my Cuddlekins, and I mentioned it on this here website just in case any RoveHos wanted to expand their worship of deliciously portly pols ('cause golly knows - there's rather a shortage of 'em!). Not 'cause I was seeking to supplement my daily intake of Pudding Pops, but just more to keep the 'HoMunity at large informed of some supplemental landing pads for their lust should they be frustrated with lack of access to my Plorplenumpkins (As much as my Mummy taught me to share, there are still only so many ladles of Sloppy Rove I'm willing to dole out!). Well, I guess I still had the potential PaternHos on my noggin' when I was in the middle of my kitchen tasks that day 'cause when Rovey came toddling down for his usual post-Suze Orman nosh late that night, he opened the Crisco tub to find that I'd been unconsciously tracing little hearts and line drawings of Mr. Paterno in the creamy surface. And that's NOTHING compared to what I did with the liverwurst. Well, after my Pulchritudinous Possum choked back his sorrows with a couple dozen packets of Newtons and a sixer of Double Fudge Yoo-hoo run through the blender, he rifled through his NIMH-issued Crisis Smoother Bag, and must have administered quite a Dozy Dose through my sleep-drooly lips 'cause I woke a couple of days later with Naugahyde burns on my sitting parts and Rovey telling me that once my cerebellum was entirely PaterNO, we could snuggle on the davenport and catch up with the four brand new Dr. Phils that'd heaped up on the TiVo while I was napping. Such a sweetie to save 'em for me - especially seeing as I'd been such a wayward 'Ho!
Aaaaanyhow, now that I've gotten the A-OK from the DARPA doc that my typing digits will make a full recovery, and that there was no *permanent* tissue damage up in cranium central, I promise I'll be much more on top of updates (not to mention dates up on top of Rovey!). Oh, and if anyone happened to TiVo the last week's worth of El Gordo y La Flaca and is willing to share, that'd be just luscious! I'd hate to get behind...
Hasta la RoveHo!