‘Blimey O’reilly,’ as me granny would say, ‘Just as there’s a flicker of gusset-gratification on the horizon: One was a’launderin’ One’s maximum suckage Sloggis and a Gok Wan control brief noir (well not that brief actually) sneaked in and turned the lily-white undergarments a whiter shade of grey.
Grading One’s pantage is now a ‘no-brainer’ (Oh how I loathe the exp) and all pants are ‘second best,’
One had warned the RR that on the unlikely event of his being allowed into One’s Burlesque Boudoir, One would only be removing One’s second best shreddies, sad to say: ‘Is that all there is?’ (Peggy Lee) and the answer is ‘YES’
Any road up…
One seems to have lost the prospective lodger somewhere in the ether although, hopefully not for ever, One perambulated One’s fat arse to a coffee house to sup with a further abandoned and shelved article.
‘Twould appear that One is toxic to the male of the species in the manner of chocolate to dogs.
Dogs can’t resist chocolate, yet too much of it shall render them deceased and so it is with Lovely One and the male of the species.
The longer One remained in the company of aforementioned cove, the more he developed a nervous tick.
By the time One took One’s leave the article could have been diagnosed with St Vitas Dance by all but the most inexperienced of lay-man Shaman.
In future, One shall strictly limit the Lovely One dosage to manageable levels.