On the whole I do not approve of large people with too much facial hair looming in my doorway. Even more so at 3 am.
That was the sight that greeted me this morning. I enjoy my beauty sleep, most of all to protect my looks, but also so I am fresh in the morning to write to my members. And last night, as my very understanding wife was once again traveling, this time at a conference in somewhere called Poughkeepsie, I was enjoying a night of calm sleep wearing a burgundy camisole. When I heard the chiming of the door bell, I pulled on a thick robe and went downstairs to find the henge-like form of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, blocking the doorway, like a couch abandoned by someone who had been trying to get it through a door that was marginally too small.
Amanda was whimpering and mewling, upset about something. Often she comes over to talk to my wife at the oddest of hours. I do my best to keep out of the way when this happens, as Amanda seeps fluids from her body prodigiously, crying for the least of reasons. Whilst I am not without sympathy, I do find myself rather at a loss. What should I do? Put my arms around her? I simply don’t have the reach.
“What on earth’s the matter,” I said to the sobbing form before me. Amanda barged her way into the house, “I simply have to see your wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I said trying to look sympathetic. “She’s in Poughkeepsie.”
“Now, don’t be like that. I know you’re not telling the truth!” Her lower lip was quivering with emotion.
“Really,” I protested. “She is. There’s a conference.”
“I don’t believe it. In fact I don’t even think there’s such a place. It sounds made up. It’s like that time you told me that The Seventh Seal was a film about seal culling. You’re beastly to me sometimes!”
“I’m sorry, but really she is away. Can I help you?”
“I hardly think you’ll understand,” said Amanda.
“Try me,” I said reluctantly.
I shall summarize the issue. Amanda works as an editor on a trade publication. From the way she talks about her writing process, you’d think she worked at The New Yorker, not Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly – The trade publication of the pig farming industry. Anyway, her magazine has recently gone through a rebranding exercise and the latest edition has had a make over (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and has a new typeface in the masthead. To cut a long story short this months publication when out with the old masthead (if you don’t know what that is, really I wouldn’t worry). This was an error that, as editor, she should have caught, but it slipped through. The publication was already in the mail by late yesterday night, and Amanda only discovered the problem as she thumbed through the latest copy before going to sleep. She had been tearing herself up about it all night.
“I hardly think the world will stop revolving just because you used Arial, rather than Verdana as a typeface, Amanda,” I said. “There may be some stern words exchanged over the trough, around the stys of the Midwest, but I think it’s an understandable error.”
Amanda disintegrated in a heap of tears, her massive bosom heaving and barely restrained by the industrial strength bra she wears. Before meeting Amanda I had no idea Carhartt – www.carhartt.com/ – made bras. For some reason it puts me in mind of The Hoover Dam.
I calmed the distraught woman down. The only reason I mention it is that throughout the process, she had absolutely no idea that beneath my pale blue robe I was wearing the most feminine of camisoles.
That, however is not the main reason I am writing. I wanted you to be aware of my latest hypnosis file which can be found on Youtube here:https://youtu.be/XREP5gHUypA
This is a cool file if you are interested in trying out a nice new look incorporating a mini skirt. If you’ve never tried this, have a listen to the file and see how you get along. As ever I would be delighted to see some pics.
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PS. If you need a free subscription to Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly please be sure to let me know. I can hook you up!