Today One will be putting out the trash wearing full make-up, eight inch stiletto Jimmy Choos, a diaphanous Chloe Tea Dress, and One’s family diamond tarara.
NOW LET SOME UNWASHED EEJIT ASKE ME IF I’M KEEPING WARM
One is NOT AN OLD LADY – Well not quite yet anyway.
Granted, since One has been incarcerated deep within the Underground Lair on One’s own, One has been mainly ackled up in a soiled Onesie, yesterday’s make-up and often found blowing One’s nose on a discarded Tena Lady.
On One’s rare appearances without, near neighbours whom One has always considered to be lesser mortals than One have taken to enquiring:
‘How are you keeping? Are you any better?’ etc
WHAT THE FECK IS OCCURRING?
All these faux concerns are being voiced by persons clearly more elderly than Lovely One. Has One gorn orf? Does One harbour the whiff of the Grim Reaper? Who knows?
AND just to put the tin hat on it the Jolly Tall Well Spoken Elderly Gentleman has disappeared off the radar. He surely must be deceased. One cannot sanction any other excuse for the deliberate ceasing of chasing One.
Lovely Gordon is still in attendance immediately upon his arrival which is a relief.
Currently we are working toward an invention that will secure our financial future of pootling around the village antique shops and sunning ourselves on beaches various in our matching knitted bathing suits.
Lovely Gordon, thus far, has come up with: ‘The Fingerless Oven Glove.’ One can foresee the odd drawback there, but God bless the little blighter for trying!