There One was, partially submerged and resembling the Costa Concordia, when One suddenly thought, ‘How on Earth is One going to lever Oneself out of the asses milk bath?’
Even the checkout operator at Asda had enquired as to why One was ooohing and aaahing and listing.
Upon being given the explanation that One had lifted the sofa with one hand in order to vacuum underneath with the other, the cove, not dissimilar to everyone else One has told, enquired…
‘Why do you vacuum under the sofa?’
Has One’s existence come to that?
One has far more important matters to attend to including the never ending harvesting of super-floo-us hair.
Following yet another Derma-peel, One embarked upon the removal of a small gathering of jet black hairs attempting to group themselves into a smallish goatee.
One has considered the much advertised ‘No No’ but since they are rather small One hasn’t taken advantage of the ‘60 day money back if you’re not delighted with the results.’
One really requires one the size of a lawn mower with the capacity to shear an average home counties lawn.
The root system is akin to the Japanese Knot Weed!
Any road up, One has a class of rowdy pensioner painter ladies this morning so One should look positively satin smooth. After all, they’re all growing their own balaclavas!