Pretty Perfect Friday

If I had a vagina I would take it for walks in the park on the fairest of days.

The people would remark to us, "What a sweet dog and so well groomed."

I would stop and talk to the people but my vagina would keep her distance, she does not like to be petted by strangers and old men. Young girls and pregnant women she tolerates well enough, though.

"What is her name," they would ask. All would know instinctively that she was a she because of the perfectly trimmed hair and the small red bow in the curley coat.

"Lydia," I would respond.

"What an adorable name," they would say.

"Not really," I would answer. "I hate that name."

I would pause for them to ask why I hated the name, but they would never ask. They would sense that they went one step too far on the ice. I would tell them anyway because I am a friend to society and hate unanswer questions.

"I named her Lydia to protect her virginity. My step-mom's name is Lydia and no one in their right mind would fuck that cunt."

The people would begin to move away from me then, which is fine. I came to walk my vagina, not talk to the people about names.

If I saw my dad in the park he would certainly ask why I named her after his wife.

My answer would be what it can only be between a man and a son when walking a vagina in the park on a lovely day.

"I'll kill you, old man."

And a small pic for the Friday Delights. Not quite Turkish Delights but not bad.