Biffed off to be warmly welcomed into the bosom of the Admiral’s extended family…
The female of the species would appear to be a hefty-thighed biffer throughout the generations.
‘Why then?’ you enquire, Dear Reader, ‘did the Admiral select a fine-boned, Aristocratic bint like you, Lovely One?’
Too late to introduce a colt-like offspring into the mix since One is well past child bearing possibilities.
Must be the protrudence of the hip bones he likes, or the slender upper arm that doesn’t wobble when waving goodbye. Or the waist that can be spanned by the clasping of his calloused, work-worn hands (see above)
Or perchance the long slender neck sans wrinklage. Or the long, sensitive, tactile fingerage that One brung to the party.
No, Dear Reader, No, tis the Geisha like qualities that snared the blighter.
One ‘Whites up’ with a sufficiency of Malcolm Powder on the fizz, a bin bag tied round me fluffy and me special socks with his flip-flops and tends to his every whim. Add a couple of me bamboo knitting needles in me barnett and we’re off.
After all, One does simply adore him.