My instincts are just screwed. Seriously. I have no skills when it comes to acting on instinct. People talk all the time about doing things that just come naturally, but sadly, what comes naturally to me seem to be decisions and actions that make absolutely no sense at all. I’m a bit special like that.

The instincts I have without fail can disarm the most watertight of logic, bypass my intelligence and make me perform acts of pure idiocy.

Today, for example, I finally tackled the vacuuming that has been pestering me for the last few weeks. Because it was hot, and because I also wanted to have a shower, and because no one was home, I decided that it was absolutely the best idea for me to partake in naked vacuuming. This would have been fine, if I’d remembered that our vacuum had very impressive suction. It was in the bathroom that I came to grief first. I was vacuuming around the bathmat when it was schlooped up. Lifting the head of the vacuum, I freed the bathmat and put it back in front of the shower.

In doing so, I must have shifted position.

Not hugely, you understand. Just enough to hear another schloop and then suddenly experience a bizarre sensation just below my nipple bar.

As if this isn’t demonstration enough of my faulty instincts, let me continue:

Logic: Turn off vacuum and gently free yourself.


Logic: Turn off vacuum and gently free yourself.


Logic: Turn off vacuum and gently free yourself.

Me: OK CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Attempt to break the ‘seal’ by poking around the vacuum nozzle and my breast, failing to allow (once again) for the suction.

Logic: You’re on your own.


I managed to free myself, eventually. It wasn’t pretty and in reality I was probably only trapped for a few seconds. I was free, and I was traumatised, and I had just missed an opportunity to perform a DIY breast reduction. The vacuum had attempted to jingle my bells, I was more concerned about writing about it, and for some stupid, inexplicable reason, I CONTINUED VACUUMING!

This is what I mean by instinct.

It honestly didn’t occur to me to stop vacuuming, or to put clothes on.

In hindsight, I can see it wasn’t the best move, but at the time? Totally the most natural thing in the world.

I was safe until I had almost finished. It was as I pulled back with the vacuum that my nipple bar hooked against one of the connections, giving my nipple a decent tweak and reminding me that I should have stopped.

And what did my instincts lead me to do?

I packed up the vacuum. Popped it back into the box and slid it under the bed.

Stood, faced it, and gave it the finger.

Gave it the finger, and told it that I had won.

As I said.

My instincts are screwed.


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