George, stop spying on me, you silly thing!

I know you like pouty breasts and kitten hips; a deep voice and a woman who isn't shy about her needs. But George, this voyeurism thing is getting a little old, okay, honey? I'm getting leg cramps and back aches posing for you near my bedroom window (on the East Side - don't you remember?) Please call Alberto and Donald and tell them to stop. My lipsticks starting to fade and I need to moisturize. My hands are cramped gripping this pole and the cold air is starting to chafe.

Have you forgotten me already? Oh, George, why do you play these games with me? I'm the one who DOESN'T take Xanex, remember? And I promise I won't tell Jimmy Jeff. He's already come by a few times posing as a pizza delivery boy named John Dough.

Please oh please call me - I BEG YOU!

XOXO,

Writer. :loveya:

Why do I do it? I don't know... I'm just a skirt, that's why! A skirt! :cry: