|
|
Bernard is choking on Sebastian’s sausage.
Did they leave a number?
Well, what can I say. It’s not been an easy week. As many of us go into an election week, I know all of us are going to be feeling a certain degree of stress. Be assured I am here for you.
I always find it helpful to listen to the Fiona Dobson playlist on Youtube to dispel stress. It really does help put a smile on my face, even when I do read about something mind bogglingly moronic that the buffoon in the White House is up to. I believe it was Mayo Angelou, that great philosopher that said, “Mask up, asshole.” That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you.
Several of my members have written to me this week concerned about my good friend Rainbow, the yoga teacher, who has recently found herself out of work due to the problems we face associated with Covid. I selected one email at random, from Mildred, of Colorado Springs, that I felt I might share with you. Mildred suggested that perhaps Rainbow could make use of her talents as a vegetarian, helping others improve their diet. How very thoughtful, Mildred. I will pass the suggestion on to Rainbow. Vegetarian meals can indeed be an exquisite blend of flavors and are sure to excite the taste buds and satisfy the appetite, unless you’ve ever actually tasted meat.
Fortunately Sebastian, Sylvester, Ali and the rest of the crew are all managing ok. Amanda, my wife’s good friend, has moved in with my next door neighbor Marjory, with whom she is conducting a sordid lesbian relationship. She is working from home there, and I mentioned to Sylvester (who has designs on Amanda for some inexplicable reason), that I often saw her in the conservatory beavering away. He replied “Amanda is indeed elbow deep in,” and at this point he paused meaningfully, “…work.”
What times these are. Nonetheless, I felt I would write and tell you of a rather unusual incident that took place the other night. As you may be aware Canada is large. In fact it’s huge. Earlier this week I was driving across one of our seemingly endless prairies, late at night when I saw mysterious lights in the sky, approaching at high speed. At first I thought it might be our Prime Minister, my good friend Justin Trudeau in his private plane. He has the disturbing habit of flying very low over the prairies, smiling and waving at us as he goes by. You may have heard of him, he’s the head of state in the North America that can read.
However, it was not he. I should have remembered he’s usually tucked up in bed by 9 pm with a cup of hot milk. No, this was altogether too fast to be something of this world.
Now, I think I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, not again!” Yes, that’s right, you’ll remember I had an encounter with alien life forms a little over two years ago. And indeed once again this vessel drew level with my speeding Buick, and I felt the sensation of being lifted off the ground, as if by a giant alien hand.
Faster than you can say ‘anal probe’ I found myself in the hold of the enormous vessel. Two alien figures dressed in a silver grey fabric, some type of satin I imagine, walked out of what seemed to be a wall of light toward my car. I was a little disconcerted, as you might imagine. After all it’s not everyday that you are accosted by higher life forms. One of them tapped on the window, and as I looked at them I realised these were the very same two aliens I had met once before.
I put my mask on, and then lowered the window.
The closer of the two aliens leaned toward me and then said, “Excuse me madam, are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“You know I am. Remember, we’ve met before.”
“Just my little joke,” he said with a smile. His sense of humor had not improved in the two years since last we met.
The closer of the two aliens turned to the other and said, “I told you, we’ve seen this one before.”
They seemed to pause for a moment, consulted what looked like an Ipad, and then one shook his head in disappointment, before saying, “Well, let’s get on with it, otherwise we’ll never make the quota.”
Ever helpful I said, “Are you running out of people?”
The nearest alien nodded, and said. “It’s this Covid business. No one’s going out much these days.”
“Well, it’s not like you ask permission,” I said.
“No, but when we pick up someone off Davie Street in Vancouver, and they’ve had six pints of Alexander Keiths everyone just thinks they had a good night at The Junction. No one believes they’ve really been abducted. You know, plausible deniability and all that. But these days,” he shook his bald head, “not so many people are going out for the night. That’s why we have to hang out in the middle of nowhere.” At this point he turned to his friend and said, “I’m not even sure where we are!”
I sighed and said, “Covid.”
In agreement he nodded and sighed, “Covid.”
The senior alien, clearly impatient, then chimed in, “would you mind getting out of the car please?”
I stepped out of the car, and the two of them led me into a small examination room. Instead of the surgical table and lights that one expects in these circumstances, I was placed in a reclining chair and the first alien asked if I would be kind enough to read the letters on a lightbox directly in front of me.
“A, F, G, H,” I said and then asked, “is this it? I mean, you’re giving me an eye exam?”
“Please just read the letters,” said the one that appeared to be in charge.
“M, S, X, no, really is this it?”
The second alien cut in at this point and said, “They don’t let us use the probe any more. They said it’s not politically correct. Something about it not being ‘woke’, whatever that is.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s not like you ask for consent, is it?”
“We didn’t get many complaints in this sector. At least not on Davie Street.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. You might get a few people disappointed that you didn’t at least leave your number after you’d finished.”
At this point the first alien smiled at me and said confidentially, “who said he didn’t,” and then winked.
Anyway, I felt I should share these events with you. Now, if you’re in the US be sure to get out and vote as soon as you can. If you don’t live in the US, let’s wish our friends’ the best for their election.
😊
Fiona
Sylvester is checking out Amanda’s cans.
What a strange day it’s turning out to be. Our members are all out doing wonderful things. Julia in Holland, one of my favorite members in our Whatsapp Group, has been out and bought some beautiful summery things, and nearby I know Lenni is having a garage sale.
Julia has been doing so well. She, like many of my members in the Whatsapp Group, shares some of her experiences and activities with other members of the group. It makes it a very supportive community.
This afternoon a few friends will be stopping by as the isolation period begins to lift. Lockdown here in Canada has been well observed and the results mean we are now able to begin very gradually restarting 2020. I, like most of my friends, feel that having a glass of wine in the garden with one or two friends is much more comfortable than going out to a restaurant, for the time being at least. It also gives us the chance to have a bit of a barbecue in the garden. Sebastian is hoping to treat us to his sausage later on. I am wearing a denim skirt, tee shirt and a lovely floral mask, and keeping things very simple.
Sylvester and Sebastian arrived a little while ago astride his enormous chopper.
Taking off his helmet he said excitedly, “Amanda’s going to drop by later. She wants me to check out her cans.”
“I’m sorry?” I replied a little surprised.
“Her headphones,” he said. “She says they crackle. She wants me to see if I can sort them out. It’s probably just a loose connection. They were very expensive apparently. Mind you that was in 1993. Still, I said I’d check them out.”
“Oh,” I said doubtfully. “I see.”
I have told Sylvester on more than one occasion that Amanda is in a relationship with my neighbour, Marjory the competitive lesbian eater. Or should that be ‘the competitive eating lesbian’. Well, as I’ve mentioned before Marjory is apparently quite a big noise in the world of competitive eating, although like so many sporting disciplines they are experiencing something of a famine this season.
“You should be a little careful,” I said to Sylvester. “Marjory and Amanda are together, as inexplicable as it may be. I’m not sure that you should be hunting in that particular briar patch. You might get pricked.”
“I don’t mean to be pedantic,” said Sebastian cutting in. “But, I’m not sure you can hunt in a brier patch.”
In the interests of contextual accuracy I rephrased my doubts to Sylvester, saying “I’m really not sure you want that bird in your hand. Better to leave it in the bush.”
Sebastian mumbled something about Sylvester having big hands and added that there are plenty more fish in the bush. I decided I should let it slip past. Instead I shot them both a look of disapproval.
“OK,” I said. “Let’s try this again. I don’t think, Sylvester, that you should have your snout in that particular trough.”
I think I may have to go in a moment. Sebastian has just got a call on his cell and let everyone know that Rainbow will be dropping by shortly and wants to show us her jugs.
“She’s only just got them out of the kiln,” he said helpfully. “She want’s to show us her pottery. It’s come on so well recently.”
Have a delightful weekend and if you’re one of my American members have the very best of Independence Days. To all my members, keep it real and stay distanced and masked if you can.
Fiona
Become a Patron!Rainbow whips out her crackers.
As you may know, my personal trainer, Sebastian, has a delightful sister named Rainbow. The west coast has many people named by well intentioned hippy parents, that have grown up to be very unlike their free wheeling parents.
While Rainbow is decidedly whimsical and likely in line with what her parents expected, not all my acquaintances are so well named. For example, Rainbow is a yoga teacher and perfectly qualified, being both gluten free and lactose intolerant. However, another friend of mine was blessed with the name ‘Swallow’ by her parents. If the swallow really is the bird of love, then one would hardly expect a corrections officer working in a high security prison to carry such a name and yet that is indeed where she has had a quite successful career.
Continue reading “Rainbow whips out her crackers.”Are you lactose intolerant? Don’t tell Mistress Meg.
I am so pleased to see that my personal trainer, Sebastian, is finally calming down. In isolation, along with his sister, Rainbow, he’s been struggling a little with the stress of the process. Here in lovely Vancouver people have been observing the lockdown very well, and as a result we had just one new death yesterday. Of course, even one is one too many, however the process does appear to be working.
He does help me online each morning as I work out, but I can hear the stress in his voice. I mentioned this very thing to Mistress Meg just yesterday.
“He does seem to be a little on edge,” I said. “It makes it hard to relax as I am doing yoga. He is rather highly strung.”
“Yes,” replied Meg. “He probably should be.”
Sympathy is not the primary emotion that springs to mind when chatting with Mistress Meg. Many of you will know her from her writing in the Seahorse level. Never one to stifle her opinions, I think she thinks of Sebastian rather like a puppy that continually looks for approval. She seems unsure whether she should laugh at it, pet it, or give in to the inevitable urge to give it a hefty kick over the nearest fence while no one is looking.
Continue reading “Are you lactose intolerant? Don’t tell Mistress Meg.”You’re going to thank me, believe me.
I’ve been chatting with a few of the members this week and we’ve been talking about how people are handling social distancing and isolation. Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, appears to think it’s all a hoax and that it’s really just the authorities trying to disguise the fact that this is the dawn of the zombie apocalypse. She seems to think that’s why the streets are so empty. She says they don’t like the sunlight.
There have been some great suggestions in our Whatsapp Group for activities that make this period a little more fun. When Sophie asked what she could do to keep feeling feminine, Lenni suggested going out and getting some clear nail polish – even if you’re unable to dress in public. It helps you look after your nails and feel feminine.
Continue reading “You’re going to thank me, believe me.”COVID19 Crossdressing News.
I looked at Sylvester skeptically, my arms folded and leaned back against the stove in my kitchen.
“Really, a quarantine reserve?” I said.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Just enough food and supplies so that you don’t need to go out, should you feel sick. I mean, spreading this thing around the place hardly seems to be living up to your civic responsibility.”
“Is it really necessary,” I asked. “I was planning to spend tomorrow morning at the nail spa.”
“Probably not. Hopefully not. But perhaps. And if it is, then you’ll be a lot more comfortable with it than without it. It’s not urgent, but you may want to have a few things to hand.”
“I can imagine you’d have 200 cans of baked beans in yours.”
“That’s not fair,” protested Sylvester.
“Your flatulence isn’t fair,” I responded. “Besides, I think I’d rather die of flu than be gassed to death.”
“Besides, it only has to last a couple of weeks. By then you’ll be better. Or dead.”
“So you have 14 cans of beans, then?”
“And other products.”
“Well, if you get sick you be sure to come over here. I make excellent chicken soup. And bloody mary’s. And I have a good reserve to see us through, if Auntie Kittie hasn’t drunk it all. But you may have a point. If one does get sick, going out for supplies might be a little bit of a drag. I shall put a list together of things to get in.”
I took a pad of paper and started noting essentials. My list started:
Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival.
Foundation (I don’t like to look too pale).
Eyeliner (If you have to take a selfie and put it on social media when you are sick, it’s nicer if your eyes really pop).
Blush (it’s always good to have a little color in your cheeks).
Influenza safe lingerie (Be sure to be buried in this if things don’t go so well – crossdressed to eternity).
Pink N19 face mask (which probably doesn’t work but goes well with that nice polo neck I got on Amazon last week).
Sylvester interrupted me with a hurt look on his face, and said “I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously.”
“Quite the contrary. I have already set aside a very healthy reserve. I’ve also stocked up on hand sanitizer, cancelled a flight I don’t really have to take, and I am expecting to work a lot more from home in the future. So, I think I am very well prepared.”
At that point Sebastian and his sister, Rainbow arrived for our evening ‘wine and yoga’ class.
As I pulled on my leggings in my bedroom I asked Rainbow, who was also changing, what she thought about it all, and immediately regretted it.
“Well, I don’t think canned food is a good idea. Everyone knows canned food is not as good as fresh, and probably has evil spirits in it. I’ve always found pineapple helps me if I have flu. That and some kombucha. I do have some crystals though.”
While a lemon might be perfect if this particular illness were more closely related to scurvy, I thought I might hold off on Rainbow’s advice. Scurvy is not something we see a lot of in Canada.
“So, you don’t go with Sylvester’s baked beans only remedy?”
“If we don’t get gassed to death he’ll blow us up when Sebastian sparks up a joint. I’m not sure which is the worse way to die!” she replied thoughtfully.
On a more serious note, here’s a great website for suggestions of what to gather should you feel the need – https://www.businessinsider.com/expert-how-to-stockpile-healthy-food-14-day-coronavirus-quarantine-2020-2
There’s a lot of spurious information floating around. It’s smart to be prepared, but not to panic. Probably the most valuable tool at present is a bar of soap for thorough hand washing. But if you do end up sick, be sure to have just the right night wear to hand if you end up quarantined for weeks. And with that, I’m off to buy some new nighties.
Got some suggestions for your Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival kit? Be sure to add them to the comments below.
Restricted content
Rainbow has a blockage!
As you may be aware Sebastian, my personal trainer, has high tailed it off to Molvania on some jaunt for Personal Trainers Without Borders, leaving me without so much as a gym partner to help me with my yoga positions. I know what you’re thinking – ‘how selfish!’.
Well, no one has seen hide nor hair of Sebastian since he sneaked out of Canada and went off to teach Molvanian peasants about being vegan. Personally I think this might be a step up from living a life punctuated by intermittent starvation, but not a very big one. If I were a Molvanian peasant I know I’d like nothing more than a nice bit of sausage from time to time.
Continue reading “Rainbow has a blockage!”Sebastian’s slipped out.
Hi,
‘Well, it all sounds highly suspicious to me,” I said. “And, Ali, I thought you said you had a word with Jeff in immigration. You were going to have him stopped at the airport.”
Ali looked a little sheepish and then said quietly, “He took the lunchtime flight.”
“So?” I asked.
“Well he was on his break,” said Ali. Then he added, as though it explained everything, “He had to take his dog to the vet.”
“His dog?”
“Yes, Fiona.”
Continue reading “Sebastian’s slipped out.”Let’s Get You In Shape The Fun Way.
You know keeping your body in shape is never a bad idea. However most gym exercises are very yang in nature – elevating the core energy of the body. There’s a great deal to be gained by releasing the tension in the body through a more yin form of exercise. That’s why yin yoga, or a hatha yoga class is so very important.
Some people identify this as a more feminine form of energy. I don’t really go quite that far, but I do feel that releasing tension through the use of yin yoga calm both the body and the mind. This allows me to be myself – a very feminine person.
Now, since Sebastian, my personal trainer, is off on some foolish jaunt to Molvania, teaching the less fortunate of the world about the benefits of being a vegan, I am left to take care of my own personal training needs. Honestly, how can someone be so selfish! He’s doing a stint with Personal Trainers Without Borders. Seems very egocentric to me.
Instead I will have to do my own yoga routine, along with Julie, Katia and Marjory from next door. Sylvester offered to come round and help me realign my chakras, but I’m not entirely sure that he interprets that the same way as I do. To be honest he’s far more useful greasing a half shaft and helping me with my fluids. In the car. He really can be very coarse at times.
However, I do think I should talk a little about exercise and how very important it is for all of us who crossdress. You may remember my photographer, Bernard, recently had some heart troubles resulting in a heart transplant. I am convinced this is because he doesn’t exercise properly. He really should be more committed. Admittedly being tazered certainly didn’t help. None the less he should be more aware of his health. Mind you, he’s not as bad as his brother, Fat Stewart. He hauls his bloated carcass around in a Ford F150 and is only likely to lose weight if he gets flensed.
So, after chatting with Marissa, one of my lovely members, I was put in mind of some of the benefits of exercising in the proper manner. That’s right, as a crossdresser it’s not as simple as merely going into a gym and lifting weights. If you want to look like Sylvester Stallone in a dress that might work for you, but if you’re looking for a more feminine shape it’s not going to do the things you’re looking for.
Most typical gym exercises are very yang in nature. The elevate the energy within the core of the body. As a crossdresser you’re looking for something a little different. Pumping iron bunches up the muscles and can even elevate anxiety. This is the reverse of where you want to be.
When you swim, particularly breast stroke, you are releasing energy. A slow methodical pace, using each stroke to release and push away tension, leave the body relaxed and supple. Crawl, or swimming in an over arm stroke, is more like a core exercise and isn’t what you’re looking for. The yin-like exercise of breast stroke, preferably daily, is extremely healthy and calming. It’s gentle. That feels more like where you need to go, doesn’t it?
Doing yoga is one of the best ways to allow your feminine energy to emerge. There’s no rocket science here. Getting into either Hatha, or better still, Yin yoga is a great way to find that side of yourself. Now, a word of caution. Don’t just wander into any yoga class, if you’re not sure what you’re looking for. An Ashtanga yoga class has more in common with a martial arts workout than what you likely think yoga is. You are looking for Hatha or Yin styles of yoga.
If you’re unable to get into a class I can thoroughly recommend Esther Ekhart’s website here: https://www.ekhartyoga.com/
I don’t get paid to recommend Esther. She’s lovely.
Have a lovely week, and try to get into a yoga class. If you’re a Patron and Seahorse Level of higher, you can also enjoy this spectacular self hypnosis file to make the experience all the more exciting and feminine.
🙂
Fiona.
If you’re looking for a holiday destination, this isn’t it!
I’ve just come to my office from a heated debate that took place in my kitchen first thing this morning just when I was getting ready to update my Pinterest with some lovely crossdressing fashion ideas. I’d just had my yoga session with Amanda and Marjory, when I cornered Sebastian, my personal trainer, to ask him about his forthcoming trip to Molvania to work with Personal Trainers Without Borders.
“But Sebastian,” I said, the concern oozing from my every syllable, “why Molvania? It’s hardly a travel destination anyone envies.”
“Oh, I don’t know? I had an aunt that went there to get married. It seemed quite a bargain, and the hotel seemed eager for the business.”
“Really? What did she think of it?”
“Well, funny thing. That was the last we ever heard of her or the wedding party.”
“You see? That’s what I’m talking about.” I was exasperated. I know Sebastian has this thing about ‘adventure travel’, and it’s true he has been some pretty wild places – punctuated by long hospital stays and some unusual insurance claims – but those were essentially recreational in nature. Well, as recreational as extreme gastric distress can be. Giardia hardly qualifies as an Olympic sport.
“I just don’t see why you need to teach Molvanians about diet. It’s not like they have a famine or anything.”
Sebastian looked a little disheartened.
“Fiona,” he sighed. “I just want to do my bit. Personal Trainers Without Borders has asked me to help. How can I say no?”
“Well, how many others have they got working in Molvania?” I asked.
“I know they sent two other people to the area I’m going to.” He said.
“And how are they getting along?”
“Well, they’ve not actually managed to report back yet. One may be in prison. They didn’t seem very clear about it.” At this even Sebastian looked a little doubtful.
“I’m not letting you go!” I said. This was ridiculous. Even my wife, an experienced traveler of many years wouldn’t go unless there was a good chance she’d be coming back. I must admit I’ve had my doubts about the nature of her travel at times. “Serving the community” can cover a multitude of sins, after all. But Sebastian is comparatively innocent (not a word that immediately springs to mind when describing my wife). We might never get to see Sebastian again. He’d be a mere memory of spandex cycling shorts and feint smell of homeopathic muscle balm that had been carried off in the wind.
“I will not be found wanting!” declared Sebastian heroically.
I should give you some background. Sebastian is not short of courage. He’s been up the Devil’s Danglers, pioneering the ‘shaft ascent’ more than once and is proven in the field of extreme adventure sports. He tells us that moments after he was born he fell from the delivery bed, only to be caught up by the umbilical cord, giving him a credible claim to being the worlds youngest bungee jumper. However, none of this justified the unnecessary risk of going to the wilds of Molvania, to educate the locals about nutrition.
“I shall speak to Bernard,” I said forcefully. “He’s got a brother in the Canadian Border Services. He’ll have a word with the boys in charge and they’ll pull your passport. We’ll say you’re of unsound mind! I think his brother’s name’s Jeff.”
At this point Ali, my Syrian gardener leaned in through the window where he’d been trimming my bush.
“I know Jeff,” piped up Ali. “Is he Bernard’s brother?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’ll tell him not to let Sebastian out, if you like,” said Ali helpfully.
“Ali! That’s unfair,” protested Sebastian.
“Don’t tell me about it,” replied Ali, a look of concerned resignation on his face. “Tell Jeff. I think he’s got a form you can fill in. Something like that.”
So you see, things are all of a quiver here in Huckleberry Close. I think it’s spring fever. Now, if you’d like to help me along and jump into my Patreon you’d be doing me a huge favor. I’m trying to get it up to fifty as quickly as possible. You can join for as little as just $1 a month.
And don’t forget, I have a wonderful feminization program with your name on it. Sign up HERE if you’re not already in it.
😊
Fiona
It’s a very special day.
What a beautiful spring morning here in Huckleberry Close. It’s a very special day for me, though you likely don’t realise it. Three years ago today I started writing the story ‘Clothes Maketh The Man’, which led to the development of my program and this extraordinary journey.
In that time, as close as Max and I can calculate, something like 85,000 people have enjoyed the story. I find this on the one hand encouraging, and on the other a little disturbing!
In celebration I think Sylvester and Ali have something planned. They keep making spurious excuses to drop by mid morning. Sylvester tells me he wants to ‘check my fluids’, which I think has something to do with the car. Ali is insistent that he was to drop of a couple of hoes. At least that’s what I think he said. He has been wanting new gardening equipment.
Anyway, it’s also International Women’s Day, and in honor of that I am including a video one of my dearest members suggested. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!
Have a lovely day,
Fiona.
Become a Patron!How many inches does it usually take?
Hi,
“How many inches does it usually take?” asked my friend, as she ran her fingers over my body.
“For my belt?” I said. She’s a talented and creative dressmaker, as I should probably have mentioned.
“Yes, for your belt.”
“Oh,” I laughed and told her.
Continue reading “How many inches does it usually take?”I think there may be a little viking in me!
|
|
Sebastian’s going to give me one in the bunker!
|
|
Finding you in good health.
|
|
|
|
The dangers of yoga pants.
|
||||||||||
|
What have they ever done for us?
What have they ever done for us?
Good morning and welcome to a wonderful election day in the US. If you’re getting ready to vote, slip into some heels, do your makeup and get out there with plenty of time to make a difference.
Just this very morning I was walking in my garden with Sebastian, my personal trainer, and Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend. She’s heading over the border to the US this afternoon to vote, of course, like all good people should. However, as we were walking Amanda got a call from my wife, who as you may know is currently travelling.
Sebastian and I could not help but overhear Amanda’s comments, and politely listened in to the one sided conversation. Now the important details I will skip over, except to say that I was wearing one of my lovely pleated maxi skirts that I find so very comfortable and a pair of suede boots. However, returning to Amanda, who it should be noted edits Pig and Pig Farmer, the first publication in the US to endorse Mr. Trump in the last elections.
Making the most of summer.
As summer moves toward its gentle close, and the warming glow of the forest fires in the distance thankfully fade, I am forced to remind myself to make the best of the last weeks of this glorious summer.
What better way to celebrate the sun and move toward fall than by enjoying the soft flow and movement of a stylish and comfortable swing dress. I was saying this to myself as Sebastian sat, dejectedly at my table in the kitchen.
He was staring intently at his phone, a frown firmly welded to his face.
“What on earth’s the matter?” I said, pouring a glass of organic free range goats milk.
“It’s my sister, Charmaine” he said. “She’s so wonderful. But…”
“But what?” I asked.
“But she’s just posted a picture on her Instagram, and there’s a great big ring on her finger. She’s engaged.”
“What delightful news,” I said with a smile.
“Well, it would be delightful. You see she went to Cuba, a lovely little village, and met this wonderful man she’s fallen in love with. She flies back every few months and is so in love.”
“But Sebastian, this is wonderful news,” I gushed. “I’m so happy for Charmaine.”
Sebastian’s sister is so sweet. She has been waiting for the right man so long, and finally her prince has come.
“Well, it would be wonderful. Except this last time she flew to Cuba she was supposed to be at her grandmother’s funeral, and cried off saying she was broke.”
“Oh,” I said.
“And since my mother’s now discovered Instagram, it’s only a matter of time till she learns that instead of planting my dear old granny, she was out gallivanting around the place getting herself engaged to a Cuban. I can almost hear the clock ticking.”
I spread the lovely dress out as I sat, and turned to Sebastian to reassure him.
“Darling,” I said, “I’m sure your grandmother wants nothing less than her grand daughter’s happiness. Besides, the old trout will never know. And your mother will get over it. Your sister has found something magical. and that’s really what counts, isn’t it?”
I know my readers well enough to know that you may have a suggestion to help me here. Help me out and use the comments to suggest what Charmaine should tell her mother.