It’s wet. It’s hard!
First of all I’d like to pass on my prayers and thoughts to all in floods in the US and other countries this week. It is a sobering thought that the death toll in Nepal is over 1200, Sierra Leone is over 1000 as well as those affected within Texas. Our thoughts here in the offices of FD go to all those suffering, where ever they may be, in this tragedy.
A couple of quick shout outs to members who have written to me this week. For Amber in Colorado, my best suggestion is that you should insert a straw and then push it up the bottom firmly. And, yes, I agree it can be very tricky finding the best way to remove the green stalk of the strawberry without making a mess.
Cheryl, in Texas, I would think you should probably have thought about that before choosing to wear heels as you stepped into the inflatable boat. Of course, our thoughts are with you and all our members in flood affected areas, but suitable evacuation wear probably doesn’t include stiletto heels at this point.
And lastly, yes, Michelle, in such situations it really is important to get consent from your partner, if not the hamster. A safe word might indeed be wise.
I am thrilled to report that Bernard has been discharged from hospital and is now convalescing at home. He was unable to join me at the advertising agency for this year’s summer costume party, but doubtless he’ll be back in circulation before long.
After finding the perfect costume, I decided to go a little retro and go as Xena Warrior Princess. I have always liked that look, and like Xena consider myself something of a problem solver. It’s just the kind of gurl I am. As Sylvester, Ali, Max and I prepared for the party and got into our costumes Max’s mother, Marjorie, came over to see what all the excitement was about.
“Hello, Marjorie,” I said as she wandered into my kitchen. “We’re almost ready.”
“So, I can see,” she replied eyeing my breast plate. “And Max is doing a wonderful job of buffing up the brass of that breast plate.”
“He’s been most helpful,” I replied.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d taken it off first?” asked Marjorie.
“Oh, no,” I replied. “What with Max so hard at work…”
At that moment Ali, who you may remember looks after my garden, came in dressed in a set of Klan robes.
“Ali,” I said. “Are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?”
My Syrian friend replied, “I thought I looked very presidential.”
I could hardly fault that, and said so.
“Perhaps we should all go out and stand on the front lawn, Perhaps Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will be lovely with the roses in the background.”
Marjorie agreed and went up the stairs. A moment later she called down to say she couldn’t get the window open, and that she needed a little help. The window seemed blocked by something from the outside.
“Don’t worry,” cried Ali. “I’ll get a ladder and clear it up.” With that, and a flurry of robes, Ali disappeared to get a ladder. Now the reason I explain all this is simple enough. You can imagine the scene when I was then standing on the front lawn, along with Sylvester dressed like a warrior from Middle Earth, about to go on a quest, Max as a Viking, and all of us staring up a ladder at Ali dressed as a KKK klansman, complete with hood, trying to open the upstairs window of my house on a sunny midweek afternoon.
As the sun glinted off my breastplate, we heard the silent hum of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, arriving unannounced to visit my wife – who is unfortunately travelling at present.
With the unmistakeable sound of tweed rustling she stepped from her car, open mouthed, and said “What on earth is going on here?”
“Ali’s taking care of a blockage,” I said helpfully, and stared up the ladder. Amanda followed my gaze.
“That’s Ali? I thought you’d finally upset the wrong people,” murmured Amanda with her usual distaste for everyone around her.
Ali’s voice drifted down, “Marjorie’s Areolas are coming out beautifully this year. I’ve not seen her garden from this angle before.”
Sometimes I wonder about Ali’s English lessons. Being a Syrian refugee, who was welcomed to Canada in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, one might forget that he was also a professor in Damascus University prior to the war.
“I thought something dreadful was happening, as I drove up. I could see this crazy Klansman trying to break in through the window. I thought maybe… Honestly, those people should be bloody well hung!”
Looking up Ali’s klan robe, I replied, “Amanda, from where I’m standing, I think Ali’s pretty well…”
“Oh my god,” said Amanda. “You people make me boldly sick. I just dropped by to tell Max, he’s got the job at Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly as my editorial assistant.”
“Oh,” I replied. “What a sparkling start to a career in journalism. Today Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly, tomorrow the world!”
However, that is not the main reason I am writing to you. I thought I’d just let you know that Oakley Dale has put another of her wonderful “How To Feminize Your Boyfriend” broadcasts up. You’d be surprised at all the entertaining things Oakley puts up! You can find it here.
Have a wonderful weekend,