h a l f b a k e r yAsk your doctor if the Halfbakery is right for you.
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Madelaine lay spent. It felt as if every muscle in her body had tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed again, in an endless spiral, until she did not know if her muscles were tightening or relaxing again.
It was all she had hoped it would be. She had met Ronald a few weeks ago, more than three,
and less than eight. The first few dates were refreshing and invigorating. He was not immensely wealthy, but also a long way from a dollar a day. He was generous with his time yet selfish with hers. But not jealous, nor suffocating, she would hasten to add. He both listened and spoke, spoke his mind and listened to hers. Never married, wonderful parents, themselves never divorced and devoted to each other after 34 years of marriage. She had wanted this more than he, when it came down to it. But he was running a close second.
But she had been reticent, from previous experience, and had almost dreaded this first sexual encounter as much as she yearned for it. She lay there now, an inward smile on her face, remembering those previous "Mr. Rights" and their wang-let increasing prosthetics, or their well-endowed unemployment. Ronald was right, "Mr. Right" and all right. But there was only one way to make absolutely sure. She reached over to the crumple of clothing that had once adorned her body. From the pocket of the stylish jeans, she retrieved her home testing kit. She unwrapped the hermetically sealed test strip and gently inserted it into Ronald's inner cheek, careful not to disturb his post-coital slumber. Collecting the saliva, she replaced the protective cover, held the test kit horizontally, and waited the requisite 30 sec.
Oh, no! Two blue strips! Ronald had tested positive for Sildenafil citrate. Well maybe he had been as anxious as she. There *were* valid reasons for performance enhancing, but at least Madelaine now had the prior knowledge. She would either accept Ronald's explanation, if he ever came "clean", or she would ride this highly enjoyable wave and them dump him like the Marion Jones he was.
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[+] for the prose. An alternative test
would be a message written in pale blue
on a white background. The blue-tinted-
vision effect of Sildenafil would
presumably make the message invisible. |
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oh fuck, the sex police (forensic division) are going commercial. |
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The dyeing of sildenafil with *that* distinctive blue is not ubiquitous. |
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Err, I don't think the test depends on the
blue colour of the tablets themselves. As
written, it sounds like an
elisa test (similar to those used for
pregnancy tests - they work even if you
can't pee blue). |
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Elisa-type, yes. One stripe control, one stripe (or lack thereof) result. Sorry , for a moment I thought you were referring to *the* colour. |
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I'm reminded of an unembittered [UnaBubba]. |
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That's a compliment, of course. |
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My anagram checker threw up a couple of options here. One was Arnold... |
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Also, my spell checker emboldened the word 'hermitically' but we'll overlook that one. [+] |
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"Hermetically" adjusted.
Texticle. I have researched this unabubba, and well heck, to be compared to him/her is a compliment. Thanks. |
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Never mind "Thanks". How about "I can explain everything"? On another note, is there any chance you could drop the non sequiteurs now? Otherwise I'm gonna snap and say something harsh, you're gonna laugh from behind your keyboard ten thousand miles away, and I'm going to feel like I've been suckered, which is never fun. |
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"oh fuck, the sex police (forensic division) are going commercial." - [po] |
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not by me, phoe. (pron:fee) |
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Non sequiteurs dropped. No laughing even from ten thousand miles away. |
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