I put my own success and good health down to my adherence to a strict and healthy diet. In Canada we have a wonderful chain of health food stores, called âTim Hortonsâ. Where ever you roam in this great land youâre never far from a healthy nutritious snack. In fact, I think it fair to say Tim Hortons has become a Canadian institution as identifiable as our polite nature, love of hockey and insistence that we elect a Prime Minister that doesnât have a serious personality disorder.
As you may know, my wife, Amanda and our neighbour Marjory, are traveling on an ornithological tour of Western Europe.
Amanda, my wifeâs appalling friend, has come down with a severe case of Canestin poisoning, which I understand is rare but not unknown in menopausal lesbians. I hasten to point out that I do not subscribe to Sylvesterâs view that when lesbians are exposed to large amounts of oestrogen they run a severe risk of having their ovaries explode. Sylvester somehow equates this to the idea that âmales have to masturbate at least once a day, or else their testicles burst into flame.â
In my kitchen with Sylvester, Bernard and Max, my neighbours son, I poured the tea.
âWhoever told you that nonsense,â I snapped at Sylvester.
âMy mother,â he said.
âSylvester,â I said in mock protest, âthatâs complete nonsense! We all know that Max has to masturbate at least four times a day to prevent such a mishap!â
Young Max blushed and pursed his lips. I smiled at him fondly. Since that embarrassing matter of the carrot, poor Max has been very subdued, poor lamb.
I made the mistake of asking Bernard how he was, since heâd only been out of the hospital a few days.
âItâs all these tests,â he said. âThey make me feel like a bloody pin cushion.â
âIâm sure the doctors are doing their best,â I reassured him.
âIâve become a slave to my prostate,â he said sounding downcast.
âArenât we all,â I replied a little uncertainly.
âIt seems to rule my life,â he continued.
âHow very awkward,â I commiserated.
At that moment the kitchen door was flung open, and in staggered Sebastian. He looked terrible, with a  weeks growth of facial hair on his chin.
âGood God, Sebastian! You look like you got interrupted halfway through eating a raw porcupine. What on earth happened?â
Sebastian was shaking with energy. âJust got back from Mexico,â he shouted. His words word tumbling over themselves to get out.
âI did the ayahuasca retreatâŠIt was⊠It wasâŠâ he was stammering his words out, his voice shaking.
âI think youâd better sit down and have a glass of water.â I said.
I decided to call my sister, who works at the local hospital. To cut a long story short, she swung by and using the drug testing kit nurses often carry, she determined that Sebastianâs Ayahuasca retreat could more accurately be described as an LSD retreat. That, and that heâd probably spent the last five days sleeping in a burlap sack. Not bad for a cool $3000.
As my sister was leaving she glanced at Bernard, and said, âOh, Bernard. I didnât see you there. I didnât recognise you from the front.â
My sister does two shifts a week in Proctology.
This week I’d like you to take a good look through my Pinterest for some clothing ideas. As you know, I love my members to experiment. Have a lookand see if there’s anything there that takes your fancy. And before I leave you, I’ve a special request. Help our girlfriends at The Downtown Eastside Women‘s centre. They could use a hand. See the panel below for details.
😊
Fiona |