But nothing is always perfect. Nothing is without flaw. And Elliot Rivera’s flaw, if you will, is that he takes everything I say and uses it against me. Sexually. And in only the best ways. Hence why I’m currently lying on our dining room table, naked, surrounded by candles, and mums. My cinnamon and cranberry potpourri on the stove filling the house and setting the tone for Thanksgiving dinner. Only, instead of ham, or green bean casserole, I’m the main course, courtesy of my comment last week about wanting to be stuffed like a turkey.
