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Monday, August 25, 2008
Dearest Dear Old Sausage,
Are you back to normal today with the weans back at school?
I am still all out of kilter, as the child-free weekend (kids went to the beach for a week with the wrinklies) allowed me to laze around in dirty clothes in a dirty house, gorging on telly and fast food. I was sleeping at odd hours and am so used to the lack of responsibility that I'm freaking out somewhat at the thought of them coming home tomorrow.
I'm going to have to be all grown up and mature-like. Eek! I'll have to plan things in advance again and do laundry and cooking and stuff. Gawd help us all.
However, the sun has risen again, much to my surprise, and today is a new day. My chin is up once again! I have formulated a very credible theory that Jemaine, in tiring of waiting for me to make up my mind, decided to send me a subliminal message. His marriage is no more than playing hard to get. He wants me to redouble my efforts to win his heart, not to mention his business socks:
So I shall simply have to win him back!
Also, I had the honour of spending an entire weekend with assorted Laydees of Questionable Morals. One of them had obviously indulged in actual s*xual intercourse (albeit with her good-lookin’, bearded husband, I hasten to add), and was parading around with her foetus-swollen belly clearly visible!
Another, extremely villainous, Laydee placed an irresistible strain on my own virtuousness by tempting me with her ambrosial home-made cookies, blueberry pancakes, caramel chip pancakes and strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes. Also, her gorgeous husband has grown a beard dark and glossy enough to rival that of Mr Mac in virility and speed of cultivation. Also, she introduced me to her extremely handsome and manly brother, who would be capable of making me forget Jemaine, if only he would stick around… But alas, he’s off to a geographically remoter region of France…
Yet another young LayDee (K-Sam, with a silent K) regaled me with passionate tales of her bachelorette lifestyle in Paris, which sadly only served to remind me that I am still firmly tied to Dullsville village life by my apron strings and two umbilical cords. However, to cheer me up, she rendered me insensible with the demon drink and generously tattooed my right shoulder with a heart labelled STELLA and pierced with an arrow, which I discovered upon awakening several hours later.
A flame-haired, Artistic Laydee took the liberty of illustrating my Helen’s Good Mood Book with such naughtiness as I never beheld! Also, she has the dirtiest, wickedest laugh this side of the Alps. We shall definitely have to keep a reproving eye on this one. She is entirely capable of leading me astray in the worst possible way. (She too has an extremely cute - albeit unbearded - hub!, who BTW forgets to lock the bathroom door when taking a shower ….)
Our esteemed Hostess Laydee, the one who keeps offering me a threesome with her muscular, farmer husband, inflamed my ardour to such a point that my face and neck exploded into a ghastly crop of itchy, throbbing hives. I have been hiding my poor disfigured features all week.
So dearest Stella, I think you may heartily congratulate me in having stayed true to you. After all that excitement, I wonder if I am wise to be going to Paris tonight to treat myself to a hot date (fush & chups and beer) with a tall, dark handsome Australian. You know, the one we and The Lovely Andi like to call Alan Rickman, but younger. Don’t wait up!