I should clarify right off the bat that I am not a witch. The nickname witchypoo was given to me by Mildly Amusing OCD Stepmother. She likes to think she’s a comedienne. There was a kid’s show called H.R.Pufnstuf in the late sixties, and witchypoo was a character on the show. She’s a stunner, isn’t she?

And also? There were a whole lot of witchypoos on my image search. All of them cuter than this one.

But I digress.

Sexual magic. It is said that with the intense spiritual connection that occurs during sex, the energy can be used for spell-like things. Well, I can hardly type, let alone spell, but that didn’t stop me from having a little fun with a gullible boyfriend.

I kept a tiny container, about the diameter of a silver dollar on my dresser, and every time after an intimate encounter with the gullible boyfriend, I would collect the lint from his bellybutton, and place it in the container, and chirp: “sexual magic!”

Yes, I am that immature.

He was very afeared, but he dared not touch the container. He suspected terrible things would happen if he did.

When we broke up, he was very anxious to know what I did with the bellybutton lint.

I told him that I wrote the following on a piece of paper:

“Whatever you wish for me, will come to you threefold, and immediately.”

Then I told him that I wrapped the lint up in the piece of paper and burnt the two of them, no doubt chanting or singing “I’m a little teapot.”

The power of suggestion must be a mighty force, because the very next day, he lost his job, and shortly after that, he had to sell his truck.

But really? He never darkened my door again.