All it takes is Laura Riding's riding- crop across my butt, and I'm off: Git-up horsie she cries astride me as I crash sweetly onto the carpet. Boredom what an esthetic, cleansing the days- I laud the vintage of my toothpick. Small-husband to the floor, my foot stoops in dance, in courtship intervals. Putting their clothes on afterwards the lovers are surprised at how empty the buttonholes seem.