Antipo, Thy Name Is Vanity

I often read things too quickly and misunderstand them. Today when clearing spam from my inbox I thought I saw an invitation to join the 'Club des Créatures de Beauté'.

My first thought was that it was completely unsurprising that I would be invited to join the Creatures of Beauty club.... my ego may astound you, but I'm used to it by now.

Imagine my disillusionment to reread the e-mail and realise it's actually called the 'CréaTEURS de Beauté' (creaTORS of beauty). Am currently worriedly examining my 41 year old face in front of a magnifying mirror, under harsh fluourescent light.

Ugh.

Pah!

Need some coffee, and I'll try to start the day again.

Strange...

During the night, I took Kevin into the forest to dye his hair (???). A large black dog, exactly like the Dog of Death in Harry Potter, bounded onto a boulder and stood menacingly over us, unmoving and very creepy. I was extremely brave, stared the evil creature straight in the eyes, put my face right up to his, and bellowed at the top of my voice: "BRUCE!!!"

In fact I shouted it out loud in my sleep, woke up with a start, and gave French Hubby the fright of his life (it was 5 am). When I realised what I'd done, I embarked upon the unstoppable, silent, bed-shaking, internal belly laugh at which I excel... My first thought was 'What if he thinks I was shouting "Bruce!" in the throes of passion?'

My throat was sore, my muscles all knotted and twisted... throes of passion indeed!

When I asked him what he heard me say, he said it sounded like I was barking.

Barking mad, I do believe.

Better Late Than Never

Thank God, our forsythia has flowered at last, and about time too. I usually depend on the very yellowness of the flowers to drag me out of my winter glums in February, but the harbingers of spring were a whole month late this year.

And why would I bother putting yellow flowers on my Naughtiness blog?




Because they make me very frisky, that’s why!

[Note to Best Friends, especially Ms. Mac: Lock up your husbands!]

Of Birds and Bees

A father asks his son, now aged ten, if he knows about the birds and the bees.

"I don't want to know!" the child said, bursting into tears.

Confused, the father asked his son what was wrong.

"Oh dad," he sobbed, "at age six I got the 'There's no Santa' speech. At age seven I got the 'There's no Easter Bunny' speech. Then at age eight you hit me with the 'There's no Tooth Fairy' speech! If you're going to tell me now that grown-ups don't really have sex, I've got nothing left to live for!"

Erotic Dream Report No. 2 (With Absolutely No Lebanese Leanings Whatsoever!)

I was working in the costume department of a professional circus. The grande finale featured the movie actor Vin Diesel, acting the part of a kind of Polynesian warrior, covered in full body tattoos, who climbed to the top of a tall building to escape persecution, exactly like King Kong. On my first day on the job I had to help him get into his costume, which consisted of a bodysuit printed with fake tattoos, and a kind of codpiece, to cover his modesty.

Well, the costume was very tight and in order to ease his way in to it, Vin had shaved off all of his body hair - and I mean ALL OF IT! [I think I've been looking at The Lovely Jonathan's porn collection a bit too much lately!] It was very exciting to be so close to such a muscle-bound and completely naked man. The mood of the dream itself was very sweet and romantic, but I managed to run my hands all over him and press myself against him, sly wench that I am, as I helped him on with the costume. Of course he couldn't resist me, so he kissed me and said he would see me after the show.

I went outside to join my hubby and kids [Huh? how did they get in my dream?!!] on a sunlit lawn to watch the show. I kept trying to catch Vin's eye and send intimate and meaningful smiles to him. After the show I ran eagerly to meet him, throwing small children and old ladies aside in my haste, but was utterly crushed to find him surrounded by a crowd of worshippers, including two very young and beautiful women, one on each of his brawny arms....

Then I bloody well woke up before I had time to fight them off and drag my prize to my underground, yet tastefully decorated (red velvet and ceiling mirrors) lair. It's so unfair when dreams end badly, isn't it? I want my money back on that one.

Strangely, I have never particularly fancied Vin for real - I only saw him once in a silly motorbike action movie - but this dream has made me see him in a different light....

Monday Morning: Brain Not Switched On Yet

A nun says to Mother Superior, "There's a case of syphilis in the convent!"

Mother Superior says "That's great! I was getting tired of the Chablis."

An Oldie, But A Goodie

Staggering Drunk

A drunk staggers down the street with his car keys in his hand, lurching from one parked car to another. Finally he is stopped by a policeman, who asks "What's the problem, buddy?".

The drunk replies "Someone stole my car! *hic*".

"Where did you last see it?".

"It was right here on the end of my car key ..." the drunk says. Sensing a pointless conversation about to start, the policeman suggests that the drunk just catch a taxi and go home.

Turning to leave, he pauses and mentions to the drunk "Did you happen to notice your fly is open?". Looking down at his fly, the drunk exclaims "Oh my God, Occifer! Someone stole my girlfriend, too!"

Top Of The Mornin' To Ya!

My God, there's nothing like a good night's sleep to restore one's bounciness and good humour quotient! After a week of insomnia, exhaustion and bad moods (see what happens when you leave me, Ms. Mac, hmm?), I finally got my ZZZs back and feel human again.

In fact I'm feeling so good, that if I were a cheesey video cassette from the Eighties, I would be a cross between Jane Fonda's Workout tape (albeit the Low Impact version - my spine is 41 years old after all), and Debbie Does Dallas.

What cheesey Eighties video tape would you be?

Reader Poll: Which Phone?

Evil, Birthday-Forgetting Husband, in an attempt to compensate for his grave spousal neglect and emotional cruelty, has offered to buy me a new, sophisticated mobile phone to replace my current clunky, 1980s version, which has to be powered by Pauline's hamster running on her exercise wheel.

He has a colleague selling two very swanky models. They are both top of the range, state of the art Nokias, and one has an incorporated 4.1 mega digital camera. The second one has incorporated camera and even a vibrating function. The colleague may be willing to negotiate a good price.

As you know, I may be very clever in some areas, but am technologically challenged in today's bewildering world of uploads, downloads, MP3s and IPods (nothing to do with peas, apparently). I still play "records" on a "gramophone", wear a bustle and crinoline to retain my girlish figure, and draw water from the well when I'm thirsty.

I know absolutely nothing about mobile phones, and as Evil Hubby is still languishing in the Deadly Cone of Silence Ms. Mac so thoughtfully provided for me, I am unable to seek his advice.

I hereby request the assistance of my faithful readers in selecting one of the two super cool phones pictured below: