One of my clients is a beautiful, tall blonde in her early fourties. Just in case she googles her name (something I wouldn’t put past her narcissistically pampered and beminiskirted ass) I will call her “Covereducterella” in reference to her one obvious fault.

     She has the covered duct thing going on.

     Many years ago I worked with a girl named “Mara”–and another named Narda, and a third named Cindy. They were all hot; I was still within my 21 years of virginity and their exotic names, especially Cindy’s, added to the unattainable allure my 20-year-old self found in them. Anyway, Mara had the same condition as Covereducterella.
     Look in the mirror and examine the corner of your lovely brown eyes (your actual loveliness and eye-color may vary, but I bet you have beautiful peepers, too) and note the spot of pink in the corner of your eye. This is where eye-goop accumulates during head-colds and allergy attacks, and also from whence tears flow during the many times daily that I cry like a little bitch.
     Covereducterella and my old friend Mara, however, both have rounded eyes that end before exposing that pink wetness. In both cases no one knows what the hell I’m talking about when I mention it, and in both cases I have the inexplicable urge to reach out and pinch the bridge of their nose.
     “Where do your tears come from, eh insert name here? Do you never allow yourself to cry, or does it come from your nose in a thin stream of delicate mucus?”

    This is not socially acceptable; so, like a good boy, I keep my hands to myself and bite my tongue–hard enough that tears come out of my ducts and I once again cry like a little bitch. That makes four times today already. I pause, look in a mirror, and admire my pink wetness.

…yes, I know what I just said.