Holidays are over. I’ve got projects, including at least one where I have no idea how to do what I’ve contracted to. But they wanted me, so that’s that.
I’ll learn how to do the job, and I’ll get a nice transfer of funds, with love, from them to me. (Cue mouth organ break.)
Anyway, here’s what happened yesterday. A pretty girl I’d been flirting with, months ago, sent me this:
(It’s just an internet image, which is why I’m prepared to reproduce it here.) Anyway, we’d called it off, but ended on friendly terms, so I thought that was an encouraging sign: she missed me and wanted to pick up where we left off. I felt very cheery. She’d expressed some interest in the leather, semi-flexible instruments, so I sent her this:
“Have case, will travel.”
Anyway, she sent me another message, which went, approximately, “WTF? Nice to hear from you, but why you just text me? & why that?”
So I realised she’d been texting some other guy, and she’d accidentally sent the picture to me. She’s the sort of girl who’d be horrified to realise she’d done that, so I decided not to embarrass her by explaining. (She doesn’t read this blog). I just apologised. Rush of blood to the head, or something, I said. So there you are.
That flogger looks familiar.
it feels familiar, too. It gets up between your legs, wraps itself around precious lady parts, and is generally the lecher and perv of whips. A Victorian miss would think it over-familiar.
But not a girl from Antarctica, I’m sure. Just familiar enough.