For the wont of something to write about

I think I have run out of things to say. I frequently feel guilt about not being a regular blogger anymore, and constantly try and think of things that might make good blog fodder. But inspiration seems to be running dry these days. Wedding plans are not the most interesting thing for me to write about. We have a date, venue, dress, honeymoon and invitations. A few more things to organise, but really, it is all starting to fall into place. A few frustrations and stresses in the house, but nothing that is particularly strange or spectacular considering the events unfolding in the months ahead.

I think I may have become boring.

No longer do I have tales of scandalous dates to tell, or emotional highs or lows to relive. I have found happiness and contentment and security. Those things are not the stuff of great writing. At least for me anyway! Makes me almost consider going off the anti-depressants so I can have a bit of roller-coasting emotional fun back in my life. Almost. That statement should get a good reaction out of Subtle!

The most outrageous thing to happen recently involved my night-time face cream. We were preparing for slumber the other evening - brushing teeth, removing makeup, that sort of thing, when I squirted out my moisturiser to apply my nightly attempt at youth maintenance. It proceeded to splurt over part of my hand, the sink and some of the splashback. And at that moment, I fell about laughing.

It looked precisely like cum.

Subtle almost choked on his toothbrush when I made this statement. So here we are three months from our wedding, when I am considering what vows I should write, and I am reduced to the wit of semen jokes.