Fertile Myrtle

This is Ali, my tour guide on Goree Island. He's like a younger, taller, cuter Wesley Snipes. I generally avoid paying guys like him to guide me around during these types of outings, because they usually just talk a lot of fake local patois shit and get on your nerves, and you don't really learn anything useful.

But from the minute I looked up into his chiseled, deep cocoa face, I knew I'd need to spend some quality time with Ali, and I'd pay top dollar for the privilege. (No, we didn't duck behind some bushes and get Le Freak on, but in hindsight, I wish we had.)

In fact, now that I think about it, I was horny the whole time in Senegal. I swear to God, West African men are the hottest on the continent! Since I arrived in Kenya, there's only one guy so far that really fires up every nerve ending in my body. In Dakar, I was engulfed by wave after wave of raw lust. Even the kid who delivered room service one night almost got attacked, and he wasn't even really that cute per se. It was only because he was about 7 feet tall, and I could picture myself climbing all over him like a jungle gym!

I'm thinking this probably happened because I'd talked with my friend Roberta about how "sex obsessed" the Senegalese are right before the trip. Whatever the case, it's been years since I felt this ripe. And to top it all off, just when I was praying for a few more months of barrenness to confirm my entry into the blessed freedom of menopause, on Monday I got a surprise command performance from Aunt Flo! I'm talking gullywasher action, and I can't remember being so flabbergasted and completely unequipped to handle a bodily function before in my life. It's like I'd made my peace, bid adieu, psyched myself for another 20 or 30 years of complete freedom from monthly tyranny, and then, all of a sudden, I'm all "Fertile Myrtle" again.

It's "Always" something. Get it??? "Always?" Speaking of which, you should have seen me struggling through a fake-assed mime routine trying to get the guy at the stall across from the hotel to understand I needed some "feminine accoutrements." Guess I've received my warning...next time I'm in West Africa, it's gon' be ON til the break of dawn!!!!!