pussy-whipped.
It’s that pleasant buzz running through my veins, that mellowness that doesn’t equate a high; who needs a high when there’s blissful nothingness to be succumbed to?
I’ve made an interesting observation lately; there’s a shocking number of pussy-whipped boyfriends in my batch, well on their way to becoming hen-pecked husbands. Why? Why? Why guys?!! Grow a spine please!
They are the ones you see on the streets carrying bags and bags of shopping (grocery and otherwise) while their girlfriends sashay serenely weighed down by nothing more than a tiny little handbag. Sometimes even the aforesaid minuscule handbag is deemed too much of a burden for the girlfriend and thus is added to the load of the pack mule boyfriend. They go grocery shopping, classes, clothes shopping, wait around to provide insightful opinions on whether that dress/boots/top looks good, do everything with their girlfriends. Grow a spine guys! Get a life! If anything, at the very least, say no to the handbag.
Updated: This has nothing whatsoever to do with the title ‘pussy-whipped’ but I just found out that one of my guy friends has recently gotten engaged, and another one is getting married tomorrow! @.@ Aiyoh, I feel damn old lar. But congratulations guys! Though I am having a tough time reconciling the image of that naughty boy who used to tease me ALL the time with that of an adult male who has voluntarily gotten engaged! Not shotgun mind you, but properly engaged. Sigh, other people have moved on with their lives, shouldn’t I too?
