That was seriously the title of some dumbass romance novel in Barnes and Noble upstairs. I really don't see why people read stuff like this. I guess it isn't much different than guys and porno mags.
Two things on this humid Chicago morning. One, I hate all these dumbass Cottonelle or whoever it is toilet paper ads around the CTA. You wiping your ass is something to be kept between you and your deity of choice. And really, I don't give a shit what kind of paper I use, as long as it, you know, does it's job. Cute puppies don't attract me to unnecessarily soft toilet paper.
Two, I don't know why the DC program would stock their $6million lab with chairs that are essentially permanently reclined. If I'm sitting down to do work, I don't want to be reclined. It's so reclined that my ass starts to slide off the front of the seat so my body is adjusting by pushing back up, which starts to get damn uncomfortable after a few minutes because I have to actually work to stay sitting, which seems to defeat the purpose of sitting.
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