Pussy chat room txt

Washing the grool off of my hands, I examine my body in the mirror, first looking at my face, which people tell me is pretty, and my brown hair, which extends down to my back.

My c cup breasts are firm and my pale nipples ride high on them.

It's partly the physical sensation - the feel and smell of good paper - and partly the minor triumph of finding the word you seek, but it's rare to open a dictionary without being diverted somewhere else.

The sixth edition has just been published and - I feel a small shudder as I write these words - it has fallen victim to fashion. Indeed, you may well have functioned perfectly well until now spelling leapfrog without a hyphen. My old friend Amanda Platell, who graces these pages on Saturdays, has an answerphone message that says the caller may leave a message but she'd Of course it should.I dry my hands and go back to the task at hand, not wanting to get caught with Mom's toy buzzing in my snatch.I walk into her room and slowly begin looking through her dresser, trying to find what I'm looking for.It is 25 years since the emoticon (that's the posh word) was born.It started with the smiley face and the gloomy face and now there are 16 pages of them in the texters' A-Z. It is interesting, in a masochistic sort of way, to look at how text language has changed over the years.

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It is the relentless onward march of the texters, the SMS (Short Message Service) vandals who are doing to our language what Genghis Khan did to his neighbours eight hundred years ago. The texters have many more arrows in their quiver than we who defend the old way. My own outgoing message asks callers to be very brief - ideally just name and number - but that doesn't stop some callers burbling on for ten minutes and always, always ending by saying: "Ooh - sorry I went on so long!

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