Dearest Beauteous Ballerina,
Despite the mention of a fluffy kitten, I did admire your poetic description of the scene that touched your artist's soul. I especially enjoyed your use of the word blowsy
. I shall endeavour to use that word more in everyday conversation.
I do worry that you are wearing yourself out before your big trip home to NZ with all this ballet malarkey but I also know that you thrive on the buzz of excitement and anticipation that comes with a big event. Even if I do not figure into the plans. Or the tutus. We both know, I have no figure for a tutu.
In Chateau Mac news, on Friday, Mr Mac took me shopping for a new dress to wear Switzerland's Event of the Year
. I am pleased to be able to direct you to see it here
. Isn't it lovely? Before I found "the dress", I had bought what I thought was the only dress in Switzerland I'd be able to fit into. It was quite vile but I thought I'd be able to tussi
it up with some sprakly
baubles and the like and make it presentable. Imagine my delight when I came across this little beauty later and it fitted me! Ooooh, I was so excited I felt like an eight year old in a bridesmaid's dress. Mr Mac also treated me to the most extravagant and sexy pair of strappy sandals which went with the dress perfectly.
We also had to find Mr Mac something to wear. We had hoped for good weather and so were on the search for some summer, lighter-coloured trousers. Bloody hell! All the summer trousers for men at the moment seem to be flat fronted which is odd in that every single pair Mr Mac tried on showed off his Dudelsack
, if you know what I mean. While I am not so much the fan of being able to see the wares in the shop window- again, if you know what I mean- he bought himself some new summer trousers and a few new summer shirts. Sadly, the weather let us down and he ended up wearing a pair of black trousers to the wedding instead. But he still looked very smart and his Dudlesack
wasn't quite so prominent.
Yesterday evening I attended the party and had such a good time that I have spent most of today writhing around the bed a sweaty mass of hangoverey vomitousness. Lovely. What happened to the day when we could drink all night and still
get up early in the morning for work?
And just finally, here's a quick (completely unPC) joke to expand further on an earlier naughty post:
An Eskimo goes to Australia for a holiday. His camper van breaks down and he takes it to the mechanic. The mechanic tells him he'll have a look at it and to come back in an hour. The Eskimo, unaccustomed to the Aussie heat treats himself to a few ice creams while he waits. Back at the garage, the mechanic sees the Eskimo coming towards him. "It looks like you've blown a seal, mate!" the mechanic tells him.
"Nah," says the Eskimo, wiping his chin, "I've just been eating an ice cream." Boom boom.
With hangoverey love and never-again quisses,