Parking Lot puddles are the deliciousest. 1993
Somewhere in Lake Fork, there's an old fish that tells his grandbasslings about the time the fearsome fur-bearing airbreather gave him a sound licking. SRSLY. She licked and licked and licked and licked, and he didn't seem pleased. We finally put him back in the lake, deeming he'd suffered enough. She, however, was ready for more.
Me and my Gal about 1995.
She doesn't seem particularly pleased with the sack-of-potatoes pose, but she was pretty good-natured about putting up with my crap. So long as I didn't make her wear stupid outfits. In that Rocky Horror fantasie in pink metallic that I posted with my Tuesday tribute, I always fancied I sensed eye-daggers coming my way. Oh, the indignity! She was way too rough-and-tumble to fool about with poncey ribbons-and-bows type crap, ever ready as she was to jump into the fray.