Heavens, what is random casual sex up to now? She’s so excited about the new content in her program I can hardly keep her from bubbling over with excitement. I know you’re going to love what she’s got to share with you.
As she often says, “I feel like I’m overflowing with fun things for the Good Gurls to do!”
I think I know what she means. I know she can help you up, in so many ways. Be sure to slip into her warm and welcome program. At just $1 a month I know she’ll be happy to come up with something special for you if you join as a good gurl.
Have you signed up for her special content? You can always join her free program below.
My goodness what a surprise to see young Gerald over at my place when I got home from a meeting of my book club this afternoon. Poor little mite was sitting on the doorstep looking most sorry for himself, waiting for me to get home.
I should explain. I go out to my book club every second Wednesday. I do enjoy it, as we often hold it over at Fiona’s. She’s such a good host, and always provides some of her excellent South African wine. We then discuss a book we’re reading and then just for fun do a game of charades, in which we each mime a book we’ve read in the past. Of course, we are not allowed to say the name of the book, and can only indicate it through the use of mime in the minute and a half we allow each person. I can only say that Fiona seemed terribly thrilled to do Howards End, though she was terribly frustrated once trying to finish off Three Men In A Boat in under 90 seconds.
It appears Gerald has been having trouble with his homework. This week he has to make a list of all the things in his room. As you know I am a school governor at St. Bernadette’s School For Gurls, and I know away around the curriculum. Naturally I can help Gerald.
I told Gerald to write down all the things he could remember while I made a nice cup of tea. When I’d finished I came over and looked over his shoulder. Goodness, his handwriting has improved. As I looked over his shoulder, and told him what a good by he was, I noticed he’d written down one of the items twice.
“Oh, Gerald. You’ve down so well,” I said. “Maybe you should just stay there a moment while I make a quick correction.”
With that I leaned over and quickly helped him rub one out.
“There,” I said gently. “Isn’t that much better”
He seemed so much more relaxed once we’d finished. I think I know why Gerald always calls me his favorite auntie, don’t you?
As my little nephew Gerald was helping me with a few personal tasks the other day I asked myself, I wonder how my favorite little sissy is doing? How are you getting along, ? I’m sure you’d just love to be in his place. Why just this afternoon he was helping me.
“That’s it, Gerald, stir it round and round the bowl. Faster. Here let me help you,” and to be extra helpful I stood behind him, my breasts against his shoulders as I reached around and vigorously stirred the cake mix. I really do work up a little sweat as I work away at it! It’s just as well I have a strong right arm.
Poor little Gerald, he’s quite overcome!
“Oh no!” I said as I lifted the bowl and placed it on the counter. “Some of the cake mix has dripped from the spoon right between my… my… chest.”
“Can I lick it,” asked little Gerald.
“Gerald!” I exclaimed. “Oh, you mean the spoon! Of course.”
After such a busy afternoon in the kitchen I think I’d better go and get a towel to clean up. After all, I want little Gerald to look forward to coming again and again and learning to help in the kitchen.
Join me for just $1 a month and I’m sure I can give you something special too! You may even want to join my Whatsapp Group and chat with other CDs and sissies, if you’ve not done so already.
What excitements this morning! I had a call from Sylvester, my mechanic, asking if he could possibly borrow Ali to help him.
“What on earth for?” I asked.
“I need some help fixing the church’s bus and all my staff are off this weekend. You know that young pastor who’s organising the charity picnic this year? He’s the one Mistress Meg knows . Well, the bus has broken down and he needs it quickly so he can take the guests later today out to where they have the event. He really shouldn’t be driving that thing,” said Sylvester.
“Goodness,” I said. “I’m sure Ali would be happy to help. I’ll ask him to get down to your workshop as quick as his slipper-clad feet can carry him. Are there many people going to this picnic?”
“The pastor has invited the sick, the needy and the impotent,” said Sylvester.
“Well, that’s quite a lot of people,” I replied.
“I understand the sick and the needy will be there, but the impotent couldn’t come.”
“What a shame,” I said.
And so by late morning I was walking down to Sylvester’s workshop laden with some lunch for the boys. I’d made a nice pie and some sandwiches. As I entered the workshop I could see Sylvester half lost beneath the bonnet, but no sign of Ali. The bus was jacked up with one wheel off and part of the exhaust system on the work bench.
“Hello… I’ve brought you lunch. Is Ali about,” I asked.
“He’s under the back of the bus working on the suspension,” replied Sylvester. “He’s in the wheel well.”
“Isn’t that a bit dangerous,” I said feeling quite concerned.
“Oh no, he’s fine. The bus is jacked up properly,” insisted Sylvester.
“Goodness me, you wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. He might fall out?” I continued.
At that very moment Auntie Kittie arrived at the workshop, brandishing a bottle of wine.
“Too soon?” She asked holding out the wine bottle.
“It’s never too soon to open the wine,” I replied.
As you can imagine, once the bus was nicely fixed we all enjoyed a glass of wine and the offerings I’d brought. Needless to say the pastor got his bus and all went well.
But that isn’t the main reason I’m writing to you. I thought I’d just remind you that if you haven’t already joined my Good Gurls, just $1 a month gives you some wonderful offerings from Auntie Kittie, and myself. Be sure to sign up if you’ve not done so already.
I am going to share a little secret with you. I
just love to dress my nephews. Actually, anyone for that matter. I know it’s a
little shocking, but that’s just the kind of girl I am.
The first time I do so is usually for punishment of some sort. Perhaps a transgression,
either real or imagines, but I have the excuse. I usually do something like
tell them that to learn respect they must wear something of my daughters – perhaps
these lovely pink panties that I have conveniently to hand. An hour or so of
that will give them the chance to consider their misdemeanors properly.
I hand them some silk lacy panties from a draw of
her things which I’ve kept since she moved out to go to university. They take
them, looking nervous, and then always look at me with those big eyes of the
totally subservient. I’ve done this many times though. They will find no pity there. I know precisely
what I am doing.
They take them, usually a little unsure, and then one of two things happen. Either they take them and run upstairs and put them on or they drop their pants and slip out of their underwear and slide them on.
I will then generally tell them to pull up their
pants and that I will let them know when they can change back. Of course, I
have a terrible memory and promptly forget. Or so they think.
The next time I decide to do this I will usually
insist they wear tights as well. I have several pairs pink and white tights,
they look very girly. I do so love the way they look. I can usually tell that
my nephews are a little excited by the prospect.
The second time I rarely go very much further, preferring
the poor little scamps to get used to it. And they do. I have sent the little monsters to my
daughters room as a punishment before, only to surprise them after a few
minutes and find them trying on her skirts or a blouse.
By the third time it’s usually evident that they’re
not only excited by the prospect, but secretly craving it. That’s usually when
I insist on calling them by a nice feminine name. Gerald becomes Geraldine, or Jeanie.
Phillip becomes Phillipa or Pippa. I know they love that. The blush on their
cheek tells me so.
I do wonder what these little seedlings will grow to be. I do know that they will bring great pleasure to their friends, though. And in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?
I’d love it if you’d join as a Good Gurl, as I need to get just a few more members. And remember, for just $1 a month you get not only my diary, but also Clothes Maketh The Man, some wonderful hypnosis MP3’s and more a whole lot more. Join up today and help me build up my followers.
With Sebastian strutting around in his cycling shorts, and Auntie Kittie coming over to offer me some of her specially imported organic coconut sunblock, anyone would think that going outside in this glorious weather is some sort of sin. However, it is important to look after ourselves in this extraordinary heat.
It is more important than ever to moisturize – personally I like a nice aloe based moisturizer – and also to drink plenty of water. Adding to this a good quality sunblock is a wonderful idea. I have started working early in the day and having a break by the time the day is hot, then going back to my endless labours in the early evening when the day is cooler. It’s a slightly different regime, but one I learned while living in the hottest parts of Africa. There is no point getting over heated and having headaches and the misery of sunstroke.
This stunning weather does give us the opportunity to wear some suitable clothes that are perfect for the twenty-first century crossdresser. Swimshorts, a tee shirt and a pair of sandals. Add lipstick and a little eye makeup and you’re there. You may not quite be Daisy Duke, but that is all a bit 1970’s anyway. I’m not sure Daisy would quite work today, sliding across the bonnet of an electric vehicle and roaring off down a country road listening to Taylor Swift. Nor can I see Sheriff Roscoe taking gender sensitivity training and a course in critical race theory.
I was discussing this with Sylvester this very morning. I explained how today we are all more ‘woke’.
“It’s all those energy drinks,” he replied.
“What?” I answered feeling like one of us was losing their grip.
“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re more ‘woke’, not more ‘awake’. Besides I don’t even touch those things. They’re bad for you.”
“I don’t get all this ‘woke’ stuff,” grumbled Sylvester.
“As far as I can make out, it means we’re more aware of racial issues. And gender ones. And age ones. And some other things.”
“You mean we’re more considerate?”
“I guess,” I replied.
“That reminds me, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” went on Sylvester.
“Go ahead,” I replied, ever my helpful self.
“Have you ever been hit on by someone in authority? I mean, I know you’re…”
“Yes,” I replied expectantly.
“You’re not like some other people,” said Sylvester awkwardly.
“You mean I have tits, wear lipstick and have a dick? Yes. I am slightly different, but that’s no one’s business but my own,” I replied enjoying Sylvester’s discomfort.
“Well, I know this is a difficult subject, but…” continued Sylvester squirming.
“Sylvester, this is me. You can talk to me about anything.”
“I wondered if you’d ever been hit on by anyone who was your boss, or something like that.”
I must admit I was intrigued by Sylvester’s line of questioning.
“Well, there’s been one or two incidents. I’m pretty abrasive with people that I get a confrontational vibe from, though.”
“It’s just my brothers teenage daughter got hit on by her boss at the store she works at,” I wondered what you thought about it.
I was a little surprised, mostly that any employer could be so stupid.
“It’s a horrible fact, and one that many men don’t understand, but as I understand it many women do get unwanted attention at work. We sort of assume it doesn’t happen, but it does. Actually, it happens all the time. Now, having said that, most young women do learn to deal with it. I know it’s wrong that it would be that way, but many women just deal with it. However, my best advice is to get her a good lawyer, and then have her choose a nice Caribbean island to go and visit with the settlement that is likely to follow.”
“I was shocked,” said Sylvester. “It was all so ‘low level’.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“Well, he just approached her and asked if she’d go for a drink,” said Sylvester.
“Unfortunately that’s often the way these things do look. Somewhat harmless and low key. But then, when it’s time for her review she’ll find that the colleague that went out for that drink does a little better than she did. It’s horrible, and it’s insidious,” I said and paused. “It’s a weird thing. It’s easy to see abuse when it’s obvious. When it’s subtle it’s more difficult. And you know what? As a person who has lived much of their life ‘in trousers’ it has never happened to me, at least not as a teenager. So I can never say I’ve lived through that kind of subtle abuse.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” countered Sylvester.
“Well, I’m glad I’ve not been bullied like that, however subtle it may have been. But to be honest, I can’t say I’ve lived the ‘female life’ in that sense. I think this is a difficult area for many people who identify as female. The fact is I’ve been fortunate enough to have many advantages of being male. Having said that, it didn’t feel that way when I got a beating or two for being too girly for some people. My journey has different struggles. But I sympathise and I see how unfair it is on young women.”
“And this happens a lot?”
“It happens all the time, which is why we have to be so supportive of young women who are taken advantage of. I’m fortunate enough to work at an agency where even a hint of such behaviour would have the senior person fired and escorted out of the building before their feet touched the ground. People who act like that are a liability to the company, as well as being bullies.”
“Well, it doesn’t happen in my business,” said Sylvester a little defensively.
“I should hope not,” I replied. It’s worth noting that Sylvester runs a workshop servicing vehicles and has a fairly mixed group of employees.
“And it never happened to you?” he continued.
“Oh gosh, no,” I sighed. “I thought it might when I was at summer camp once, but the camp counsellor found out I was trans and then wasn’t interested.”
“Huh,” said Sylvester with a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not quite sure what to make of that.”
“Yes,” I replied. “That’s what he said.”
Stay hydrated and enjoy the sun, and remember, it’s not just the climate that’s changing.
I’ve been sorting a few things out in my house for summer, and as I have no doubt you can imagine in this heat I’ve found a little help from my nephews helps a great deal. Moving some of the furniture to give my place a lighter and more spacious feel has made it so much nicer in the heat.
In my living room is my husbands old sea chest, one of my last mementos of the dear man. He disappeared in the south seas many years ago, though I don’t really like to talk about it. Needless to say, as a widow I do like to keep some of his things about the place, even if it has been 25 years since he went beyond his last horizon. I used to put a few photographs of him and his shipmates on it all arranged nicely in their frames, but they’re all packed away now.
“Goodness, Auntie,” said my nephew Gerald. “You really do have a big chest,” trying to move it.
“Ah, yes,” I replied. “And not so very long ago it was covered in seamen.”
The other morning I walked into my kitchen and immediately knew something was wrong. I should explain that my morning yoga is a sacred time for me, and I let nothing interrupt it. I’m only ready to start the day once I feel grounded and settled.
I usually follow my morning yoga with some tea, and a piece of toast, so I was surprised to find a deputation of some of my team waiting for me as I entered the kitchen.
Max, Katia and Mistress Meg fell silent as I entered. I glanced at them, and walked over to the kettle and put it on. To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement.
“Well,” I said. “What are you all looking so worried about? Has someone died?”
Max, who was backed up against the wall looking a little scared, was the first to speak.
“Meg wants to hang me up by my…” he faltered.
Then Mistress Meg cut in, “I want to hang him by his wrists and have Stacy give him a damned good strapping.”
Katia just looked angry.
“What on earth’s going on,” I asked. “Max, tell me what’s the matter.”
Now, perhaps you remember that Max is my neighbour’s twenty year old son, and looks after much of the technology side of the work I do. There’s a surprising amount of work running the blog. He also manages my Patreon and a few other things, including entering Auntie Kittie’s content. He’s our tame techie.
“It’s Patreon,” he said and everyone fell silent.
“Oh yes. They recently named me as one of their top adult writing creators, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they’ve done very well from your Patrons. You’d think they…”
“Tell her what they’ve done, Max. Stop blabbering,” said Meg.
Max, who by now was close to tears, turned to Mistress Meg and said, “You’re not the boss of me! I’m just doing my best. You can’t tell me what to do!”
Mistress Meg picked up a breadknife, rubbed her thumb against the blade and then said menacingly, “Odd choice of last words, Max.”
“I think perhaps we should all calm down,” I said gently. “Now, Max let’s sit in my study and see what’s the matter.”
I took Max through to my study, usually my sanctuary away from others, and sat him down on the couch. His eyes were brimming over, and a tear ran down his cheek.
“It’s ok, Max. Just tell me what the trouble is.”
“We’ve been kicked off Patreon. They say our content is too adult.”
“What? Make up tips and hypnosis?” I said looking a little shocked. “Or was it that joke you said I should take out?”
“You mean the one about stuttering?”
“Yes, where I said that jokes about speech impediments were a big big ‘no no’?”
“No,” he replied. “I pulled that out before we posted that piece. It’s more Mistress Meg and Katia’s content. They say it’s too adult and they don’t want it on their servers. But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Really? What else is there?”
“We have hundreds of members there. And they’re not going to be happy. And Mistress Meg and Katia depend on the revenue from there,” he said clearly upset. “I’ve let them down. And I think Mistress Meg might want to do something horrible to me.”
“Mistress Meg does horrible tings to people all the time. It’s sort of her thing,” I said softly. “I won’t let her do anything to you, don’t you worry. She just want’s to look after the Seahorses.”
“I didn’t mean to get us kicked. Really. I thought we were ok, but they’ve just clamped down.”
“Don’t worry, Max,” I said soothingly. “We’ll take care of Patreon. If we have to be off it then I’m sure our members will understand. We got along just fine without Patreon before, remember? We’ll just have to accommodate the members on the website.”
I thought about it for a moment and then said to Max, “Mistress Meg is just concerned because her writing is more edgy. She probably thinks it really her fault. None of this is anyone’s fault. Patreon are just trying to be careful.”
Max looked a little awkward for a moment and then added, “Well, there’s more to it than that. I was thinking of saying we should get off it anyway. Some people feel it’s a bit of a scam. You should see the review of it.”
“Well, if that’s the case then we should get off it anyway. They’ve done us a favor. I want the best for my members,” I said.
Max stared into he distance and then said, “I can build a membership system on the site. We can ask Patrons to switch over. That way you can chat to them when they visit the site, using that chat window you use some evenings.”
“I love chatting with them,” I said. “Now, I’d better go and calm down Meg and Katia. Don’t you worry about a thing. It’s not your fault.”
And with that I left and went out to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to calm down Meg and Katia.
“We’re just going to build a membership system on the blog instead,” I told them. “Besides that way we can service them much better. Patreon has never been that great. I know people can’t find half the content you write, because their navigation is so outdated.”
Katia cut in, “You’re right. Someone wrote to me the other day saying they couldn’t navigate properly in their app. Half the time it doesn’t work properly.”
“Now, let’s not be unkind to Max. He’s going to have our website updated in a few days with a bunch more content for our members and we’ll let everyone know exactly how to switch over to our website,” I said. “Besides, it gives us an opportunity to do more on the website itself, rather than someone else’s platform. We can do even more cool things for our members.”
And that’s why I’m writing to you today. This has given us the great opportunity to improve the way we serve up content. It’s also a heads up that Clothes Maketh The Man is soon going to be served entirely free. You probably know that the first 24 episodes are currently free, but that subsequent episodes have only been available on Patreon. Well, I’ll be making them freely available on FionaDobson.com in the next couple of days.
Now, if you’re a Patron you’ll need to subscribe to one of the services here to continue your membership – and I want you to know how very much I appreciate each of you that does so. And if you’d just like to support the work my little team and I do then you can simply join for $1 a month in my Good Gurls membership here. You know how very much I appreciate each and every one of my members, and over the years we’ve overcome hurdles like this plenty of times.
If you’d like to tell Patreon what you think of their decision to throw us off their platform, don’t let me stop you. You can email them here: firstname.lastname@example.org – It won’t change their decision but it might remind them that they’re a bunch of homophobic self righteous dicks.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to stop us delivering the very best crossdressing content, just as I always have. Now, I have to hide the cooking sherry. I can see Auntie Kittie coming up the drive, and if I don’t she’ll be here all night.
Auntie always wants her sissies to look their best. This week she’s suggesting a great new pair of panties for her Good Gurls.
When Auntie is not working diligently in her role as the Governor of a busy boarding school she is always happy to take care of her nieces and nephews. If you’re not already following her be sure to check out her page.
I’ve popped over to Fiona’s place to give her my diary entry. As luck would have it she’s having a little soiree and the liquor cabinet is unusually accessible. I’ve just dropped in to give Fiona this message.
So, as you may have guessed I am back from visiting St. Bernedette’s School For Gurls. You know, I do love to travel to South Africa, and life in the Natal foothills is really quite lovely. It’s a little like going back in time.
The post is still delivered by the nice young postman, and I often ride into the nearby town of Jabulani on horseback, along with Jack the handyman at the school. Jabulani is about five miles from the school, and a lovely ride in the Natal morning sunshine. The school has a small stable of a dozen horses. Every morning Jack and I would get some exercise taking one or two of the gurls and riding to town to bring back the fresh milk.
Those sultry mornings, with a little mist in the distance, climbing on the back of a well trained pony, and setting out across the veldt, it was quite beautiful. The gurls laughing and chasing along with me, Little Michaela, her ginger hair flowing behind her as we fly across the ground in the morning sun. Quite serene. And Jack the handyman trying to keep pace. He’s a little older, of course and we have to wait for him from time to time.
Once in the nearby village we’d put a few cartons of milk in our packs from the store, and then race back to the school stables. And of course finally we’d help Jack off his horse.
It all seems a million miles away from the cooler weather I have come back to. And Canada is really much more modern and genteel. Things in South Africa seem so much more, I suppose the word is ‘primal’. Everything is more literal and immediate. So, when one of the maids came to me and said they didn’t know what to do about the schools pet dog, ‘Cesar’ chasing after the postman every morning I pointed out that the best way to deal with that would obviously be to neuter him.
Well, as I explained to the poor man later, I had been referring to the dog when I said, ‘neuter him’. These things happen though. Best to move forward and not get bogged down in the details, though I do have some sympathy for the poor fellow.
How lovely it is to be back, though. My nieces and nephews have offered to help me get my Christmas tree up, and I’m looking forward to standing on a chair as my nephew Gerald looks up at me as I place a fairy on the top of the Christmas tree. How well dressed this tree really is. I suppose I should now turn my attentions to young Gerald.
How very kind he is to help me get it up. I’m sure, given the opportunity, you’d do the same.
But now I have to give this account to Max, who is going to post it online for me. He’s so much better at technology than I am. I shall go and sit on his knee and simper, it usually works with him, the little puppy! I’ll just stop off and refill my coffee cup with Bailey’s.
How nice it is to be back in South Africa. I am visiting St. Bernadette’s School For Gurls here, where I serve as a school governor. I am also taking the opportunity to help out in the school, as a lot of the staff have been effected by Covid.
I do hope this is finding you well. If you’re being good for your auntie you’ll be taking a few precautions, wearing a mask as well as a nice pair of frilly panties. You know I like all my nephews to be well presented. If you’ve not bought any yet, perhaps you should check out my page of goodies. Have a look and see if there’s something suitable for you there. I think you’d look just delicious being a good gurl for me!
All the pupils here are out playing sports in the spring sunshine today. I do love it when they are out playing fields, and I get out my buns to give them all a treat between games. It’s so good to see them all playing together. I watched one of our most promising pupils, Amanda, beating off the competition to win the long jump. What a sight.
I do my best to keep all the scores tallied.
“Oh, auntie! You’re so good, always getting them down for us,” said Amanda just today, with a little snigger. I can’t think what she found so funny.
What a very stressful few days it’s been. Just today I had one of the neighbourhood boys over while my delightful niece, Nancy and I arranged some flowers in my house. I do find it so relaxing to put out a few nice flower arrangements.
The children in Huckleberry Close seem to gravitate to my house, and the large garden I’m lucky enough to have. Fiona’s delightful gardener, Ali, has been helping me and cutting some beautiful blooms for me to arrange in the house. The unfortunate challenge of being so available to the neighbourhood children is that from time to time the rather revolting neighbour, Donald comes and plays in my garden. I try to be kind and even handed, but it’s really not always easy. I think all the children think of me as their personal Auntie.
It’s hardly surprising really. They love to come over and are sure to sample my pie, or anything else I put out on the kitchen table. I like to provide a nice spread. Some of the young boys just can’t get enough of it. I should be flattered I suppose, that they have such hearty appetites.
“Auntie,” said young Donald this very afternoon. “What’s an erection?”
“Donald, that’s a very unusual question. Now, let me see. Your mother should really talk to you about this, but when a man and a woman… No, when two people… No, when a small group of people of undetermined genders or something between genders…”
“Auntie,” said little Nancy jumping in and coming to my rescue between placing holly sprigs in vases I’d put out on the table. “I think Donald means, ’What’s an election?’”
“Oh, I see,” I said with relief. “Really? You don’t know what that is? Ok, let’s see. How can I explain? It’s something we do now and then to get rid of people who aren’t running the country the way we like it. For example, by locking up all the little children. Or making promises they don’t keep, or are generally doing things that are douchy and not representative of our values.”
“What are values, Auntie Kittie?” asked Donald.
“Don’t worry, Donald,” I replied. “I’ll let you know if you ever get any. We usually elect people based on policies, Donald. So, for example in Canada we believe in religious freedoms, freedom of thought and belief, and freedom of expression. You believe in freedom of speech, don’t you, Donald?”
“Well, I guess,” agreed Donald reluctantly.
“Well shut up then,” I said firmly.
“Tell him about the polls, Auntie,” piped up Nancy, always keen to be of help.
“I don’t trust the Poles,” said Young Donald.
“Don’t be so racist,” I said and cuffed him around the ear, before sending him off to the bathroom. “Be a sensible boy and be sure to wash your little hands after.”
Donald has a lot to learn in the hygiene department.
Nancy turned to me and said, “I’m not sure Donald quite understands about democracy.”
“Oh,” I said gently. “I’m sure he’ll learn. And then probably be thrown in a cell where he belongs, before dying alone in disgrace. Under the circumstances I think that’s not a bad outcome.”
“What do you mean, Auntie?” asked Nancy.
“Well, five hundred years ago we would have stoned him to death, in the time honored fashion. Under the circumstances, if I were Donald I would consider myself lucky.”
Don’t worry, it’ll soon be over. Let’s just stay calm, and choose an extra special pair of panties with which to celebrate as the tide of change flushes out the U-bend of the last four years.