Oh. My.

Well, I believe I'm becoming a texting convert, due in no small part to Irish Rugby Man who has taken texting naughty things to an art form. Quite fun to get graphic texts on the bus and text back saucy things, I must say. Now I know why people love texting so much! Naughty e-mails take a second to this. The only thing better would be a Crackberry, I think. Oh, dear, it really is a slippery slope!

In other news, he will be spending part of the weekend at my house, so I am crazily cleaning from top to bottom. I've been living like a bachelor in squalor for a couple of months now, so there's lots to be done, needless to say. I'm sure he wouldn't notice an elephant in the house; nevertheless, I feel the base need to prove myself a worthy homemaker, even though we all know I'm not. Why is that, I wonder? I mean, how much time are we really going to be spending outside the bedroom anyway?

IRM is seriously bringing out my debauched tastes. I feel comfortable being completely honest about it with him, too. I like it. I feel evil and sexy, true to my Scorpio self, if you believe in any of that.

This could get really fun.