E=mc2 (you know what I mean, squared. But I can't do the little 2)

Sometimes God gives you a sign.

A few days ago I got my second ever solicitation to do a review on my blog. Of sex toys. I don't know what it is about my blog that would make someone think that I would do something like that--I mean, I don't even blog about sex, with the possible exception of Porn Sunday, Orgy Tuesday and Bestiality Friday. I emailed the person back to ask how it would work, hoping that they would appreciate a mildly amusing post about the "fleshlight", but apparently, they want me to test out something from the stock and then review it and would I also consider something from the couple's section. You know, because by reading my blog they know that Husbandrinka is an avid fan and wants to have as much of his life broadcast on the internet as possible.

So, I was sort of toying with it. But it's just not me. And I don't think that I could ever look you guys in the eye again if I did a lot of "I give this three moans out of five". So I was leaning against it until I got a real sign.

At Thanksgiving dinner, I figured out that my father reads my blog. My first clue was that he said, "I read your blog. I don't like it, it's very superficial."

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a father who doesn't appreciate lighthearted blog banter. So I did what any normal person would do. I told him that I was banning him from my blog.
He wanted to know what that even meant. Remember, he lived in the former Soviet Union until he was in his 30s, so I had a lot of Gulog inspired images in my corner.
"It means that you are not welcome to read it anymore," I declared.
"I can read it if I want to," he said. "It's on the internet."
"Not if you have honor!" I may have jutted my index finger out in the international "honor" symbol.
He agreed. Because, well, wine was involved.

Then my mother chimed in. "I don't understand why you would post a blog where everyone could see your deepest thoughts."
"I don't really have deep thoughts," I reassured her.
"Still, aren't you worried that people are reading it and masturbating? The internet is so anonymous."

I can't decide whether my mother assumes that I write a lot of erotica or that she just thinks that most of the people reading blogs keep their hand in their pants for most of the day, but I think that signs against reviewing sex toys don't get much clearer, do you?