I'm a boy...
Words from a Bird. Day 79
I was greeted by the vision of Reg curled up asleep in one cup of a red 36D bra this morning. Surely not one of yours, I hear you ask. No, definitely not one of mine. Trainer bras or a sensible vest are more my forte. Anything larger than that would give my bust the silhouette of a couple of dented ping pong balls and that's not attractive on a woman.
So this will teach daughter number 2 to leave her dirty washing by his basket overnight. He'd had a field day, and the utility room looked like the aftermath of a financially lucrative night in the red light district. A pair of tights was casually slung over the side of his bed, and various pairs of drawers littered the floor. Unfortunately, there was no money left on the side, but I am used to that.
For one dreadful moment, I had thought that perhaps Reg was going the way of his 'gaynine' brother, but taking a slightly different route and dressing up in women's clothing. We'll see...
Daughter number 2 not only brings the inevitable washing ('Can you get it back to me before I go skiing in the morning Mumpty? I do love you.....) she also handed me a curved darning needle and some brown twine. 'Can you redo my weave while we're waiting for the washing to dry long enough for you to iron it?'
Oh I was so tempted to sew it back in the style of Cousin Itt off The Addams Family, but apparently she needed to see where she was going. I did offer the use of a bulldog clip which I have been saving for an occasion such as this, but she wasn't convinced. I did my best sewing (better after I put my glasses on actually. I nearly pierced her eyebrow twice when I was sewing without them).
Two hours later, my bedroom carpet is littered with bits of brown twine, hair extensions, her blood and my tears. I have a dead left arm, have developed a squint and am cursing my side of the family where the hair from hell originates from.
Looking at the finished result, I feel that at best a hat will be worn at all times over the coming week...
I was greeted by the vision of Reg curled up asleep in one cup of a red 36D bra this morning. Surely not one of yours, I hear you ask. No, definitely not one of mine. Trainer bras or a sensible vest are more my forte. Anything larger than that would give my bust the silhouette of a couple of dented ping pong balls and that's not attractive on a woman.
So this will teach daughter number 2 to leave her dirty washing by his basket overnight. He'd had a field day, and the utility room looked like the aftermath of a financially lucrative night in the red light district. A pair of tights was casually slung over the side of his bed, and various pairs of drawers littered the floor. Unfortunately, there was no money left on the side, but I am used to that.
For one dreadful moment, I had thought that perhaps Reg was going the way of his 'gaynine' brother, but taking a slightly different route and dressing up in women's clothing. We'll see...
Daughter number 2 not only brings the inevitable washing ('Can you get it back to me before I go skiing in the morning Mumpty? I do love you.....) she also handed me a curved darning needle and some brown twine. 'Can you redo my weave while we're waiting for the washing to dry long enough for you to iron it?'
Oh I was so tempted to sew it back in the style of Cousin Itt off The Addams Family, but apparently she needed to see where she was going. I did offer the use of a bulldog clip which I have been saving for an occasion such as this, but she wasn't convinced. I did my best sewing (better after I put my glasses on actually. I nearly pierced her eyebrow twice when I was sewing without them).
Two hours later, my bedroom carpet is littered with bits of brown twine, hair extensions, her blood and my tears. I have a dead left arm, have developed a squint and am cursing my side of the family where the hair from hell originates from.
Looking at the finished result, I feel that at best a hat will be worn at all times over the coming week...
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