This Missive Brought To You By The Colour Whorish Red
Dearest Love,
In an ideal world, teenagers would be raised by their fathers between the ages of 12 and 21 while mothers lay in the sun sipping champagne being served (and perhaps even serviced) by well-toned, oiled-up, fuzzy-chested, not-too-young-to know-what's-what hunky spunks wearing the bare minimum who occasionally have to bend over to pick things up right in front of us. For me, it's the just desserts for having given birth to the little ingrates and then reared them successfully to the stage where they can throw all your efforts right back in your face.
Alas! I have no sexual adventures from last night to entertain you with on this fine morn. I did paint my fingernails a very sexy and daringly whorish bright red- my word, I fancy myself with these hands right now- but poor old Mr Mac was too tired last night to have me dig them into his buttocks, or indeed even look at them, and retired to bed early. Pffft!
I'd write more but I started reading that strange, eerie and absorbing book, the one your brother loaned us and it's almost unputdownable.
More later, when I find out just exactly what has been going on in the Highlands of Scotland. I always knew they were a bit strange up there!
Painted nail love and whorish red kisses,
MM
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
In an ideal world, teenagers would be raised by their fathers between the ages of 12 and 21 while mothers lay in the sun sipping champagne being served (and perhaps even serviced) by well-toned, oiled-up, fuzzy-chested, not-too-young-to know-what's-what hunky spunks wearing the bare minimum who occasionally have to bend over to pick things up right in front of us. For me, it's the just desserts for having given birth to the little ingrates and then reared them successfully to the stage where they can throw all your efforts right back in your face.
Alas! I have no sexual adventures from last night to entertain you with on this fine morn. I did paint my fingernails a very sexy and daringly whorish bright red- my word, I fancy myself with these hands right now- but poor old Mr Mac was too tired last night to have me dig them into his buttocks, or indeed even look at them, and retired to bed early. Pffft!
I'd write more but I started reading that strange, eerie and absorbing book, the one your brother loaned us and it's almost unputdownable.
More later, when I find out just exactly what has been going on in the Highlands of Scotland. I always knew they were a bit strange up there!
Painted nail love and whorish red kisses,
MM
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
posted by Ms Mac @ 11:23 am
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