Not my protector.

I was talking to Sylvester this very morning. He said to me, “How is it that anyone who was alive in the eighties and nineties- people who listened to our music – could possibly vote for that stinking pile of orange crap?”

“I assume you are talking about Mr. Trump,” I said. “And I’ll thank you not to use that language in my kitchen.”

“Really, though!” He said. “How can this election be this close? People who lived through Boy George, The Thompson Twins and David Bowie… How can they betray the things we all believed in?”

“Sylvester, calm down,” I suggested. “In any given population you are going to get a certain number of people who are either misinformed, selfish or monumentally stupid. People who don’t understand how to use Google to check facts. They’re what we call in Canada, ‘Morons’. We will see exactly how many there are in the US in a few days.”

“You can usually tell them apart from normal people,” I continued. “They refuse to consider any opinion but their own, often buy into ideas that keep them at the bottom of the social pile, and are too uneducated to realise that what they think is commitment is actually ignorance. They fear women, they fear immigrants and they fear people who don’t subscribe to their brand of idiocy. They also often think that their gun is a solution.”

As you likely know Pig And Pig Farmer was one of the first publications to endorse Donald Trump in 2016. Even Amanda, who edits this venerable publication has refused to endorse the foul pile of orange crap this year.

She just can’t bring herself to vote for a person who sexually abuses women, pushing policies that will damage so many people, and only enrich the wealthy few. While Trans healthcare is not her foremost concern, as a mother she can’t in good conscience vote for a person who is denying so many women the right to autonomy over their body. She knows that if one of her daughters needs an abortion, she doesn’t want to have to argue the point with a politician or a law enforcement officer.

“Amanda,” I said as we chatted on the phone while I organised a few things in my office, “most of the things they blame on Biden are nothing to do with him. I assure you this isn’t the first time the middle east has had a war, and while they blame Biden for the immigration situation, I guarantee you that’s something that’s been developing over decades. They’ll take these issues and try and manipulate you into thinking they’re all the fault of the person in power. As for that Afghanistan mess, Trump created the whole thing by being an inexperienced and naïve commander in chief. The truth is, neither of them are great, but Trump comes with a whole fascist agenda – and that’s what our parents fought a war to overcome.”

I then had to ring off as I told her I had to assign a few jobs to the team her and hand jobs out in the board room. I really do think her hearing is going.

“Hand jobs out in the boardroom?” she replied.

“Don’t worry, Amanda,” I said. “Things will work out if everyone keeps their heads.”

Sebastian stopped by during the morning, too. As you know, his sister is named Rainbow. What you might not know is that she’s named after the Greenpeace ship, Rainbow Warrior. As you can imagine she was raised with values around the environment that are dear to my own heart. Here in beautiful British Columbia we live by the words, leave only footprints behind. To be fair, my footprints are usually with a very pronounced four inch heel – but looking after the environment is very dear to my heart. It’s a small thing, but I don’t want my children living on a burned out cinder of a planet. And talk of ‘drill baby, drill’ turns my stomach. If you can imagine a dinosaur looking up at the sky and saying, ‘Gee, isn’t that a great looking asteroid heading our way! Let’s try and get a closer look!’, then you can imagine the way I feel about pushing carbon fuels further than absolutely necessary.

Personally, it’s the trans persecution that is the hardest of many lines that have been crossed. I know of many trans people who are feeling frightened by the possibility of losing health care. If he gets in, that’s practically guaranteed to end. Any thought that RFK has any knowledge or understanding of modern healthcare is beyond comprehension. That Trump would give that antivaxxer any say in health matters defies understanding – yet no more so than injecting bleach to overcome Covid.

Only someone who fails to understand how tariffs work could ever suggest the idea of bringing in tariffs in a country that imports so many of its consumer goods.  The tariffs will come straight out of American pockets and trigger one of the worst recessions the US has ever seen.

And let’s be honest here. He’s going to be dead long before his mess gets cleaned up. He’s an old crock who is making his last play before he dies a lonely failed little man. Most people stupid enough to vote for that will have to live with the results longer than he will. Unfortunately, if he gets in, so will the rest of the US. For those of us who are trans, the consequences will be far reaching. Fortunately, Canada will always provide a home to people persecuted in their home countries.

As for making America great again, if Trump is elected the US will become the laughing stock of the world. Except that if you’re trans, it’s not going to be very funny. Anyone voting for Trump is no friend of the Transgender movement, and they’re no friend of mine.

Many of us are worried. Of course, it’s a worrying time.  However, we will get through this. I’m online much of the time over the next few days.  Visit the website if you need to, and look for the chat system if you need to talk.  I will make m yself as available as I can. We’re going to be ok.

Have a voting plan, take a friend and bring whatever you need in case you need to wait in line. Make it count.

Fiona.

Both Sides Of The Great Divide

I was sitting with Sylvester in his workshop just the other morning, listening to how one of his customers had split his rim, when my dear friend Nikita happened to come into his auto shop. I have no idea what that is or how one does it, but I did my best to look interested as Sylvester worked on the wheel of a vehicle that had just come in.

“Nikita!” I said, excited to see her. “I barely recognised you without your horn in your hand!”

I should point out that Nikita is a talented musician. She began her transition some years ago and now enjoys life as the woman she is mean to be.

The reason I mention this is that, as someone who transitioned at 62, her story is one that I know many of my members will find of interest. Nikita has just released her new book and I include a link below and encourage my members to reach out for it.

In “Both Sides of the Great Divide,” Nikita Carter describes her awakening. How, at 60 years of age, a series of shattering experiences lead to her being “broken open” to the awareness that she is a trans woman, and that she must make changes in her life that reflect that truth.A musician, composer, educator, producer, the past Artistic Director of a music company, and founder and co-leader of a large ensemble orchestra. Today, Nikita emerges from a life filled with extraordinary experiences and people, as a strong, confident, loving advocate for the trans community, a “hybrid being, being hybrid.”

Spurred on to success.

I do enjoy it when my friends drop by for tea.

“It says here,” said Sylvester, “that due to a remarkable breakthrough in medical science, some sufferers of bone spurs are now able to be active into their senior years, even running at the age of 78!”

“That’s wonderful,” I said and placed the cup of tea in front of him.

“Do you really think you should get your medical news from the Fox News website,” I asked.

But that’s not the main reason I thought I would write to you.  I wanted to let you know that I’ve just released a story you may enjoy on my site, you can find it here – https://fionadobson.com/my-father-thought-he-had-three-boys/ For most of us, relationships with parents can be quite fraught. You may enjoy this.

I had a note from Jeff, one of my lovely members in Louisiana, who asked, “Fiona, I love your great advice about clothes and cooking. The recipe you sent me for better buns has proved a winner. However, I am concerned that I live in a state that is unlikely to swing to the Democratic party and I don’t know how to be supportive to my trans sisters. What should I do?”

I’m so glad you asked, Jeff. The fact is you must vote your conscience as best you can. Obviously, if you have either a mother, wife or daughter you can’t in all good conscience vote GOP as the right to control of a woman’s body is a matter for the individual rather than the state. However, in terms of supporting your trans sisters, if you are in a firmly red state you can still help.  Making a small donation to Zooey Zephyr will help her and keep her in the Montana legislature. Getting behind her, even if you are not in her state, will strengthen our foothold. Before long there will be others. After all, it’s not like we’re going away any time soon. So, counter intuitive as it may seem, donating to Zooey really does further our cause all over. We’re not going to get far unless we stick together. As the great philosopher Maya Angelou said, “We get by with a little help from our friends.”

For those interested in some personal news – monumental personal news – be sure to check out my Patreon. You can join the free level if you need to. For the in depth background, of course, there’s always the Behind The Scenes membership.

Have a lovely week.

🙂

Fiona

Short Straight Multi-Color Wig – $16.99

A little something to help you through the daily grind.

“You know,” I said to Sylvester as he got ready with some lube, “I feel I need to give my gurls a little bit of a hand from time to time.”

Sylvester looked up at me, applying the shiny liquid to his shaft.

“You’re so thoughtful, Fiona.”

You will remember that Sylvester is a mechanic. He’s restoring an old engine at present. He knows the value of making sure all the parts are well lubricated.

“Are you sure it’s going to fit,” I asked as he slid the shaft into a tight fitting sleeve.

“You’d be amazed what a good amount of lubrication can do,” he said concentrating on the job in hand.

The shaft slid home with a satisfying metallic sigh.

“Goodness,” I said with a slight gasp. “You’re really very good at this.”

“Yes,” he said with a look of studied concentration. “Lubrication is the key to so many things.”

“You know you’re right!” I replied. “I just feel I want to help my members feel a sense of satisfaction. So many of them put up with so much.”

It was as I thought about this that I decided to post a few pictures that might elevate your mood. You know, if you’re on this site then I am like a sister to you. And any good sister would be prepared to bend over backwards to help you feel good about yourself.

Do you think I should bend over backwards for you? Well, register and see what I have as you slip inside the website. You know the deeper and deeper you go into it the more satisfying it can be. Come on. Register here, and go really deep. Just the way I like it.

🙂

Fiona

PS – be sure to sign up for one of my programs to experience the deep satisfaction we both crave.

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Better, Stronger, Faster.

Sylvester came into my kitchen this morning with a smug look on his face and asked me, “Is your refrigerator running?”

I sighed and thought to myself, ‘ok, Sylvester’s learned a joke. I better let him do it.’

“I believe it is,” I said glancing at the fridge in an exaggerated manner.

“Good, because if it is, I’ll vote for it,” Sylvester then collapsed in a quivering mass of his own laughter. I sipped my coffee patiently until this display of idiocy was over.

“What is this, a Democratic Party ‘in joke’?” I asked.

Sylvester was still quivering. It was unusual to see Sylvester laughing at a joke that didn’t involve panties, coming in the back way or pulling someone’s finger.  You know, Sylvester really can be quite coarse at times. Is there a small chance he could be evolving from his Neanderthal roots?

But that’s not the main reason I am writing today, and don’t worry, it’s not going to be an email soaked in political hyperbole. I know some of my members don’t like that.  So instead, being Canadian, I thought I’d tell you a quick hockey story. Yeah. That’s more fun.  And I have to say, I do like going down to the hockey rink and watching local teams play. I have even supported the local team by volunteering and helping them with the electric scoreboard. I love to go down there and score with the boys. I like to help out the girls too, of course. I always keep my hand in.

But, you’re diverting me from the main thrust of the story today. We have this player who has been the main scorer of the local team. He’s very talented but he’s been having some issues lately.  And in a couple of weeks we have a critical game against another very good team. They’re not professional but I know at least one player on their team is exceptional and used to play at a very high level, so we need to be very organised.

Sebastian, who is a very sound strategist, surprisingly for a kombucha drinking yogi, understands.

“Joe is just too old. He’s got arthritis in his knees. And he keeps forgetting to show up for practice,” said Sebastian, while adjusting my downward dog yoga position from behind. “And if we lose this game we’ll be out of the league. It took us at least four years to get back in last time we were relegated.”

“I can see the problem,” I said, easing into the pose.

“I don’t think there’s any choice,” he went on. “We just need to substitute him out for someone better than we had before. Better, stronger, faster.”

“Do we have that technology?” I said.

“We have the technology,” replied Sebastian, very seriously.

“It’s so obvious,” I agreed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Sebastian can be unusually wise. His views have adjusted my own from time to time and I find his insights penetrate deeply at both an intellectual and physical level. Anyway, I thought I should share that non-political update with you.

Have a lovely week. Be sure to sign up as a good gurl this week if you haven’t already, as Auntie Kittie is keen for me to suggest a few more sissies come her way.  Those were her words, not mine.  

🙂

Fiona

Keeping it simple.

I have always liked leotards. I’ve written a few pieces about the versatility of this piece of clothing, here’s one piece – https://fionadobson.com/continuing-corssdressing-adventures-leotards/ 

So many of us agonize over finding clothing that fits perfectly. It has to be said that the beauty of this type of garment is that it fits most body types well. I like something that covers my shoulders and steers the eye toward a bit of cleavage.

It’s typical of Sylvester that when I say I am going to slip into something simple, he assumes I mean Rainbow. He really can be quite coarse at times. I find it good to give him a pre-emptive slap around the head now and then.

“What was that for?” he says.

“It’s for what you’re going to think, if you’re not doing so already,” I tell him helpfully.

I do like to steer people in a good direction. So, here’s a handy tip. If you like wearing jeans, think about getting a simple leotard that you can slip into, and suddenly you’ve got a very femme outfit which is simple to put together and always looks attractive.

Here’s a link to a leotard that’s only around $22 and is a great asset to any trans wardrobe.

https://amzn.to/4bFPyFS

I like to wear this type of thing with a pair of high waisted jeans. If you add heels it’s super femme. This is what I’m wearing this weekend.

Be sure to join my Patreon Community chat, or perhaps you’ll find me chatting online on the website. And don’t forget, you can always use my ‘back door’ on Patreon for just $1 a month.

🙂

Fiona

Become a member!

Sylvester couldn’t get his chopper out!

What a busy week it’s been. Poor Sylvester has barely even got his chopper out. He’s looking most frustrated.

I’ve told him, there are times when circumstances just don’t allow a good ride, and it’s times like that we have to do the preventative maintenance. He usually looks despondent when I say such things, and then goes off to grease his nipples, or something. I have no idea what that is, by the way. Anyway, perhaps the weather will improve and he’ll be able to get out on his bike.

So, after seeing the debate I reached for a nice length of rope to go and hang myself, changed my mind and then wrote a cutting post. After posting it, I thought better of things and deleted it. Few people come to my site for political commentary. All I can say is we now get to see whether people are capable of facing facts, biting the bullet and asking a good man to do what’s best for the country and withdraw from the race. Personally, I feel Joe is a good man, and he’s done ok. But now it’s time. His ambitions and the ambitions of those that surround him simply do not take precedence over the future of a country. My concern is most of all for the many trans kids who will see an end to their medications if the rapist felon gets elected. I know we cannot depend on the liar to protect trans rights, or to protect anyone but himself for that matter.

So, what can we do? Right away you can familiarise yourself with this – https://fionadobson.com/the-three-things-you-can-do-right-now-to-advance-transgender-rights/ – which is a good starting point. If you live in an area which has no pathway to support for a candidate that could get themselves elected, then I would strongly suggest backing a candidate in a location they may be able to get elected, even if this is far from you. If you live in the middle of a right wing enclave, you can donate to Zooey Zephyr, in Montana and lend her your support. Those of us outside the USA can’t donate to support US candidates, there are rules against that, but we can look to people who are advancing trans rights in our own country and lend them whatever support we can. Sometimes this is monetary, sometimes by volunteering, and sometimes simply by expressing support for their message.

We are definitely living at a strange time in history. However, we’ve always been here, and we will always be here. Supporting our sisters in any way we can is more important than ever.  This week I was travelling in the foothills of the rocky mountains, and in a small town hardly big enough to swing a cat in I stopped to buy a coffee on a very long drive.  To my surprise a trans girl came in as I was ordering my coffee. I would guess she was 20 years old. She looked lovely and I turned to her, complimented her on her lovely hair, and then told her how those of us who are older are so very proud of our young sisters. I said to her, ‘you carry a flag that we were unable to, and we admire you for that. When we are gone, you will carry that flag onward.’

She was so grateful. Many of us face a very solitary journey.  When we are able to express our support for one another it really helps.

With this in mind I am offering the first five people who email me at fdobson@zoho.com with the email subject line ‘I support my sisters’ free membership of my Whatsapp Group.  This is usually $10 a month, so it’s a substantial saving. Remember to check out the guidelines for the group chat.  It’s been running very well for years and is a supportive place for many members unable to find community elsewhere. If you’d like another opportunity to chat with others, you can do so by choosing one of the options on my Patreon and using the community chat there. Just remember to keep it respectful and clean. It’s about supporting one another.

You can get into my Patreon for as little as a dollar a month, and I could really use some new members there. Jump in and use ‘my back door’ if you want to be supportive.

Have a glorious week.

🙂

Fiona.

Become a member!

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Rainbow is doing ‘group’!

As you may know, I had suggested therapy to Rainbow, which she took to mean she should train in it, rather than find a decent therapist. As her training has progressed she’s become really quite animated in the subject.

She came over to breakfast just the other day and asked my advice about some marketing she was doing. As one of Canada’s leading crossdressing advertising executives I felt compelled to help. She showed me a draft of some promotional material she was getting ready for a counselling group she’s running.

“I’ve decided to form a meet up group,” she said.

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure that will be most helpful. And who is the group for,” I asked.

“Oh, it’s a meet up group for people suffering from social anxiety,” she said.

I looked at her doubtfully. I was immediately put in mind of a campaign for the Eczema Awareness Foundation which one of the junior members of the accounts team at the advertising agency I work at, had suggested. He seemed keen on the idea of a scratch card promotion until I explained that this might not be the best way to promote Eczema awareness. Rainbow’s idea of a meet up group for people with social anxiety seemed likely to have the same likelihood of success.

“You don’t think a meet up group might be a little hard to encourage people with social anxiety to participate in?” I said innocently.

Rainbow then showed me several of the photographs she was using to promote the group. I should point out that Rainbow, a yoga teacher, has a stunning body. However, the photographs were bordering on pornographic, they were so very explicit. I felt quite awkward looking at them.

“The pictures are lovely, Rainbow,” I said kindly, “but do you think them entirely appropriate for this group?”

She replied quite swiftly that “Inner beauty is in the third eye of the beholder.”

It’s hard to argue with logic like that.

“I’m sure these pictures are perfect,” I said.

I realize that it’s never easy working with people with challenges such as social anxiety. It can be a very serious problem for may people. It’s a good job I am blessed with such a sensitive nature, which is of course so common amongst those of us who are transgender. Sadly, my friend Sylvester is not so gifted in this department. He had suggested that they should have an Egg and Spoon race in the Special Olympics, for people suffering from Parkinson’s Disease. Really. He is the limit at times. Obviously Sylvester does not share my kindly nature.

As we go into the summer I hope you’ve found some great clothes to wear and that you’re enjoying the content on my site.  Be sure to drop by, and if you’re not already on my Patrion by sure to look in on it. You can even use my ‘back door’ for just $1 a month!

🙂

Fiona

Become a member!

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What’s a crossdresser to wear to the company party?

It’s the weekend of the company summer party. An air of excitement is permeating all of Huckleberry Close. Naturally a few of my friends have come by and will be joining me at the costumed event.

After finding the perfect ensemble, 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 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. Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will 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 unmistakable 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, “Marjories 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 bloody 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!”

Have a wonderful weekend,

🙂

Fiona

A fun task now that spring is here.

I was trying to explain to Rainbow that she was mistaken about Australia having been annexed by Germany in 1938, when her brother Sebastian arrived to join me before breakfast for a yoga class. I do enjoy the early morning yoga classes. Having a personal trainer so committed to my body is something I feel great gratitude for.

Sebastian is a wonderful trainer. How can I best describe his teaching style? I suppose it’s best to call it ‘deeply penetrative’.

I poured a glass of orange juice for each of us, before we started the class. Now, you may remember that Rainbow is studying to be a therapist. When I had suggested to her that therapy might be a good option for her, I had meant participation, rather than training, but she had grasped the wrong end of the stick, and here we are.

“We’ve been learning about Freud,” she told me. “I’m fascinated by Australia.”

I was confused.

“You know,” she said. “Where the marsupials come from.”

Gradually I realised she’d confused Austria with Australia. I thought I should explain a little about European history and things went down hill from there. When she pointed out that Europeans were so much more cultured than those of us here in North America I took issue with her. That was the point that she started on about how Leonardo was so multitalented, with the whole painting, mathematics and engineering, and making all those films, too! Apparently she loved Titanic.

Rainbow has recently started dating Epiphany. While her heart may have swelled the same can’t be said for her intellect, I fear.

But that’s not the main reason I am writing. As spring rushes in and we prepare for summer I have a fun task for you. It’s thrift store time. Yes, it’s time to go out and scan the thrift stores for something fun to wear. But this time I’d like you to do it a little differently. I’d like you to try and buy something that is fairly androgynous. Feminine, but just safe enough for you to wear around without being obviously crossdressing. Yes, this is part of your gradual move to a more androgynous look. Pastel colors, a little feminine but not so very much that you feel uncomfortable around people you know. Push your boundaries, but not too far.

Have fun out there, and remember, ‘recycle, reuse and reduce’. You’ll be doing your bit to save the planet.

🙂

Fiona

PS. Enjoy the song below.  If you’re a member of my Behind The Scenes group you’ll know why this is a special one for me.

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A bit of luck and a nice package!

When I got an urgent call this morning asking me to stand in as Master of Ceremonies for a charity event, I was caught short completely. It was really quite tragic, their own MC having met with an unusual accident involving a hamster, a length of pipe and a lighter.  I’m told they should be out of hospital in a week or so, though the hamster was less fortunate. The situation was made doubly dramatic as I had just sent several of my favorite dresses to the dry cleaners as I have a string of events to attend in the coming weeks, and I had nothing to wear. However, as luck would have it I received a delivery when I got to work directly from my friends at Glamour Boutique.

What a stroke of fortune, a beautiful purple lace sleeve dress delivered in their usual discrete packaging.  Now, there’s a number of excellent reasons you should buy from a supplier like Glamour Boutique, rather than off the shelf.  I will go into that shortly, but first, let me tell you exactly how this evening played out.

I called Sylvester who, while he does look like a gorilla that has been strategically shaved when he wears a suit, can be quite fun at these events. He agreed to join me at home at Huckleberry Close and we would then go on from there.

He pulled into my drive right behind me as I arrived home from work, and then waited in the living room as I hurried upstairs to change. As I did so I called down, saying “You’ll have to give me a moment to slip into something.”

I pulled on some fishnets, slipped into a pair of patent leather black heels, and then stepped into the dress. A moment spent on make up, and then I descended the stairs.  Sylvester was gawping at me as I walked into the hallway.

I turned and inspected myself in the full length mirror, Sylvester looming behind me like a great henge.

I watched his reflection as I adjusted my hair, and saw how his gaze fell to my behind, framed nicely by the cut of this particular dress.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Slipping into that seems a good idea…”

“Sylvester,” I said sharply and he averted his gaze.  He really can be most coarse at times.

Moments later we were off to the event, Sylvester driving and I feeling quite excited. A new dress always makes me feel coquettish. Particularly this one. The lace sleeves are so perfect for crossdressers, as they hide a multitude of sins, such as unsightly arm hair. Additionally, the cut of this particular dress is perfect for so many of us. The Empire waist really is a good choice for those of us in the gender fluid space. Most of us don’t have a very pronounced waist, but this style really does lend us a little more shape.

I’ve said before that buying from a company like Glamour Boutique is a good idea. These dresses are synthetic and almost impossible to crease. This is important to me as there are times I have to fling something in a bag without much preparation, and I may not be able to hang it as precisely as a silk or cotton dress might need. Wearing creased clothing is always awkward and a sign of very poor taste. This comfortably sized synthetic dress fits easily to the curves of my body, while still giving a little in those areas I need it to. The fabric has enough stretch to work for a male body shape, and for those of us who occasionally like to add a few body form accessories.  After all, don’t we all have moments where adding a little extra presence to our bust measurement can be done to good effect?

Well made crossdressing dresses will work with or without such accessories, and stretch to accommodate either option. This is why I generally go with clothing from Glamour Boutique, rather than from local stores. I know I will get clothes specifically chosen to be good for a crossdresser, rather than something that might look great in the store but really doesn’t work so well in front of the mirror at home while Sylvester stares at my ass.

And on the subject of my ass, I have to tell you I love this empire waist.  It’s not usually my first choice of dress shape, but it really does work well. Coupled with a high heel the effect is to give just the right flare to the dress, as my ass is slightly exaggerated by the cut of the dress combined with a nice heel. The effect is a dress that has a nice swing to it, looks smooth and well fitted and is really comfortable to wear. So, you can see, I was pretty happy to get to the event, stand up in front of the crowd and enjoy a moment in the spotlight looking great.

I know you will have the same sense of satisfaction if you get in touch with my friends at Glamour Boutique.  Be sure to tell them I sent you.

Fiona

Auntie Kittie is riding ‘the cycle of abuse’.

Sylvester looked skeptically at the newspaper. He is one of the holdouts that do still read the physical paper, and his heavy knotted brow was twisted in concentration. His Neanderthal roots were showing.

“Did you see this?” he asked, while I was grinding the coffee.

“What’s that, Sylvester. The picture of Auntie Kittie’s niece in the Girl Scouts?” I replied.

“I don’t think that would make the pages of the New York Times,” he replied.

“Oh, I thought you were reading the local paper. Auntie Kittie’s niece Emma was in it. She got another badge. I think it was for fire starting, or gender awareness. Something like that.”

“She’s very proud of those girls,” said Sylvester. “But no. It’s this story. It says here that they’re making children have babies in Texas.”

“I hope the Girl Scouts down there are giving them a badge for teenage pregnancy,” I muttered.

“It’s this whole abortion issue,” he continued. “I can’t believe this is happening in the 21st century.”

“I can’t understand why anyone with either a daughter, a sister or a mother could possibly accept giving up the right to an abortion,” I said. “It’s like the whole world has gone mad.”

At that very moment I spied Auntie Kittie cycling up the road toward my house.

Sylvester glanced round and seeing her said, “Here she comes. She’s riding ‘the cycle of abuse’.”

“Why do you call her bicycle that,” I asked.

“Have you heard how it squeaks? She never oils it,” replied Sylvester, who is indeed of a mechanical bent.  He went on to say, “The last time that thing was lubricated they were still using whale oil.”

“Well,” I said taken aback. “I don’t think that’s a very nice way to talk about Auntie Kittie, Sylvester!”

You know Sylvester really can be quite coarse at times.

On a serious note, just keep in mind anyone who is aligning themselves with the denial of a woman’s right to choose, will be coming for us, too. It starts to make political decisions very simple. Whatever your past voting pattern, don’t be fooled into thinking this is your grand dad’s political environment. There’s already trans people out there fighting for their lives and loosing. Just ask Brianna Ghey or Nex Benedict.

I do hope you’re having a good week.  I am taking the time to catch up on a few things having been away for a little in Europe. A little what, you may well ask.  I won’t be answering that anytime soon! Let’s just say my body is feeling particularly tired, and like Auntie Kittie’s bicycle could indeed use a little lubrication.

🙂

Fiona.

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Max is teabagging Sebastian in my basement!

I arrived home on Saturday morning to a house full of guests. Max, my next door neighbours 20 year old son, had let himself in as he often does these days, Sebastian had arrived early for my yoga session, and as I walked into the kitchen, there was Sylvester clutching a twelve incher in his hand.

“That looks very meaty,” I said as Sylvester stood there looking proud.

“You know how much I love a good sub,” replied Sylvester. “Salami, tomato, olives… this is twelve inches of perfection.

If I had a quarter for every time I’d heard that, I thought quietly to myself. Actually, I’d only have a dollar twenty five, but all the same…

I slipped into a light skirt and a tee shirt, to be ready for yoga, and then asked Sylvester if he’d like to join Sebastian and I on the yoga mats. I should say that it’s rather like watching a fridge try to do a downward dog, when Sylvester does yoga. The will is there, though.

“Where on earth are Max and Sebastian,” I asked Sylvester wondering if perhaps Max would be joining us on the yoga mats.

“Max is teabagging in the basement,” said Sylvester.

“Really,” I said a little surprised.

“Yes. I had no idea Max knew so much about tea. He’s showing Sebastian how to mix a few different tea types and make a few tea bags. He has some black tea, oil of bergamot, vanilla and all sorts of things.”

“Oh,” I said, somewhat relieved. “How creative. We should see if they want to do yoga with us.”

However, that’s not the main reason I am writing to you. I’m sure that you have experienced, the same as many of us, feelings of embarrassment following dressing. Well, you’ll be pleased to know you don’t need to. In the video above I have prepared a short hypnosis for you that will help relieve those feelings. Have a listen and see how you get along.

Have a great week, and remember – “Accept yourself as you are, and create yourself as you you desire.”

🙂

Fiona

 
 

You won’t believe what came across my desk!

I was a little late into my office this morning. I washed my hair after a particularly strenuous yoga workout this morning, and I simply had to let it dry before coming to the office.   I have a delightful black blouse on, and a black and white skirt. Very Kate Spade. The cool weather demands some nice stockings, too.

As you know, I prefer to work from home, but do show up to the office now and then.  This is mostly to annoy Brenda in the human resources department, but you know, one has to show willing. By the way, have you read ‘Getting To No – Telling Clients and co-workers to sod off without offending them’? It’s an interesting look at the modern workplace and something that is becoming required reading in some business groups and gender studies groups. That sounds really boring, but give it a try.

I wandered into the office a little after 11, and to my surprise was met by an unfamiliar voice saying, “Hello, big boy.”

I froze and immediately checked my reflection in the full length mirror I insisted the facilities boys install in my office. That was when I noticed the parrot sitting on my desk.

At that very moment Sylvester entered my office behind me and said, “I see you’ve met Captain.”

I can only assume Sylvester had dropped by to annoy the girls in accounting. He really can be quite coarse, you know.

“You have a parrot?” I said.

“I inherited him,” replied Sylvester. “He’s a macaw.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate being misgendered first thing in the morning,” I said and sat down at my desk. “Who did you inherit him from?”

“My uncle,” said Sylvester as he put out his arm and the brightly colored creature stepped up on the outstretched limb and then languidly sidled up to Sylvester’s shoulder.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had an uncle. Or that he died.”

“Oh, it was a while back. I didn’t really know him very well. He left me a few hundred dollars,” explained Sylvester.

“And a parrot?” I asked.

“Well, sort of. Captain’s been passed around since my uncle died. He’s been to practically everyone in the family, and now it’s my turn. I think I’m going to hang on to him,” said Sylvester, stroking the bird under his chin.

“Show us your tits,” said Captain. “Show us your tits.”

“I think I see the problem,” I said. “Perhaps you should close my door. I’m not sure the staff share Captain’s permissive conversation style.”

“My uncle was a doctor,” said Sylvester by way of explanation as he closed the door.

“I see.  You know how old Captain is?” I asked.

“Not really,” said Sylvester.

“Do you have any idea how long parrots live?” I pressed on.

“No. It’s not really something I’ve looked into.”

I looked at Sylvester skeptically. However, on the desk before me was a catalogue of products which I have to examine for the advertising agency. We are pitching for a new account and the first step is to thoroughly understand their product line. And that brings me to the reason for this email.

I am often asked to help members who feel they are unable to dress, because their spouse is not entirely on board with the whole ‘crossdressing thing’. Many times I remind them that the best approach is not to inform their significant other that, ‘darling it doesn’t matter what you do, I just look better in your panties than you do!’

To totally suppress these desires doesn’t work very well. And furtive dressing sessions can be very unfulfilling. A more successful approach is to gently introduce the shift toward a more feminine approach. And that’s what I am going to talk about today.

There are many ways to dress in a more androgynous way, without completely going over to crossdress in public. A good start is to reconsider colors. Hard contrasty colors are very masculine. Hard blacks and reds are quire aggressive. Instead, selecting a softer palette of pastel colors where possible is a wonderful first step. A pastel blue or lemon sweater or shirt can be quite femme looking.

Something else to give some thought to is the fabrics that you wear.  I prefer lambswool or angora to cottons or nylons when it comes to sweaters. I avoid brand names and always wear soft colors. It telegraphs my own softness and sensitivities. It’s also perfectly acceptable in most office environments. And keep in mind, a touch of lipstick or putting on heels and you’re crossdressing if you choose to go that far. Super femme.

When it comes to jeans, if I’m out sanding my boat, or helping Sylvester get to grips with his half shaft, I’m wearing the 501’s. But when I’m casually dressing I always go for a femme cut pair of jeans, preferably with a bit of stretch. Mavi is a good place to start with this.

So, without going full on femme, this will help and even if you’re unable to dress as much as you’d like, this gives you a more androgynous look without overtly crossdressing. You can learn much more about this in my Premium Program. I have some other wonderful ideas for when you’re unable to dress as you wish in there under the title “The Empresses New Clothes”.

Now, I am going to have to go and get ready for some work – well, lunch at any rate – and I have to get this obscene creature out of my office. I should eject the parrot, too.

Have a wonderful week,

Fiona.

PS. Surrounded by energy stealing assholes? Crank up the volume and listen to the video below. Then come and join my Patreon for as little as $1. https://www.patreon.com/fionadobsonCD

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My hand on your flies.

My good friend Sylvester was looking very concerned.

“I really think I ought to get my junk out,” he said, sounding very distracted.

“Well,” I replied. “If you must!”

“I mean, some of these lures are very old. They’re junk really,” said Sylvester.

We were standing around a table in the greenhouse, in my garden. The smell of ripening tomatoes filled the summer evening air.  On the table was a neat little pine box, containing some beautiful lures which Sylvester has made, as he is such a keen fisherman.

I inspected his flies, and I must say it did make me think I should keep my hand in. You may not think this to look at me, but I really do love outdoor sports, including hunting and fishing. I find the gentle rhythm of fly fishing very calming. Helping Sylvester sort out his fly fishing lures, and discarding those that are damaged or ineffective, is a periodic task I help my friend with.

I shall be writing before the end of the week. Now, let me help Sylvester sort out his flies. I’m sure he’ll appreciate my attention.

Fiona

Sylvester slammed his tackle roughly in from behind!

As perhaps you know I am enjoying a little time away from the hard weather and have slipped of to the Baja, in Mexico. Such a delightful place. However, you can imagine the surprise when I received an excited phone call from Ali, my gardener.

“You should have seen it, Miss Fiona. Sylvester slammed his tackle roughly in from behind. I’ve not seen anything like it!”

As you’ve likely guessed, Ali has discovered ice hockey. Well, it had to happen. You can’t be in Canada for very long without being affected by this the national sport.

“It was wonderful,” said Ali. “He’s been on the game for some years, I hear.”

“I think you mean, ‘he’s been on the team’, Ali,” I corrected him. I really do worry about Ali’s English at times. I really must speak to his teacher.

Ali went on to tell me that Sebastian’s been going out with a new girl and is very taken with her. Apparently she’s very pretty but she has a squint. Unfortunately she’s unable to see him any more. Poor Sebastian.

I do like to keep up with the news at home as you can tell, but that’s not the main reason I’m writing. I thought I’d share some news with you.  I have added a new $1 level to my Patreon page. This allows you to penetrate just a little deeper without going to the full expense of the other programs.  I realise there are many things out there at present competing for your attention, and at such a difficult time it’s sometimes a little hard to justify the expense of a full program like the Premium Program for some of us. It’s important to me to be available to all my members, so I talked to Max about this and asked for his ideas.

He said, “You need to give people a different option. Some way to have a relationship without too much expense. You need some kind of ‘Back Door’. So, with this in mind I am inviting you to join my Patreon and use my ‘back door’ for just $1 a month. I think you’re going to like it. It’s exclusively on Patreon. Join here – https://www.patreon.com/fionadobsonCD

🙂

Fiona

Become a member!

PS. Just click any of the hotlinked names in the post to get more stories about that particular person. It’s a fun way to learn about my friends.

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There’s thrush in Marjorie’s bush.

I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars.  Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.

It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen interest in such things.

I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was looking at so intently.

“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly, pulling my robe tightly around my body.

“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.

A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly at Ali.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.

“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.

Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali joined us in the kitchen.

“I don’t much like being spied upon,” said Marjorie, as I poured the tea.  At that very moment Sylvester arrived and joined us in the kitchen. He placed hi enormous mug on the table beside our delicate tea cups, and smiled expectantly.

Ali piped up, “I’m not spying on you.  I was just checking out your pussy.” I do wonder about Ali’s language skills at times.

Sylvester smiled, and I shot him a glance hoping he’d get the message to behave.

Ali continued, “it was about to get the thrush.”

Marjorie looked livid.

“I’ve noticed they’ve been getting into your bush in this cool weather,” he added not helping himself very much.

I managed to calm Marjorie down, and assured her Ali meant no disrespect. It’s so easy to offend when dealing with such sensitivities. I suppose I have learned to be more careful in my language recently. Especially with all the talk about pronouns we hear these days. I do find that the best approach is to try and be as sensitive to others needs as possible. After all, in the end we are all just trying to get along as nicely and with as much kindness as possible. I do feel that is the approach that brings the best in good taste to our friendships and our relationships.

Indeed, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as we all enjoyed some Danish pastries and a lovely cup of tea and chatted. You’ll probably appreciate that this is one of my great skills. Bringing calm where there was agitation and disruption, before I arrived.

As I walked Marjorie to the back door when it was time to go she smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

“I’m sorry if I’m over sensitive, Fiona,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” I said. I added, “Besides, it’s nearly spring – I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the door behind her.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.

Sylvester informs me that should I ever be caught in an avalanche, I should make a point of peeing myself, so I can figure out which way the gravity takes the pee, and then I will know which way is up, and which down.  As you know, Canada has been having some quite hard weather recently, and such pieces of information are very helpful to know.  However, I do have a problem with this.

First of all, I don’t think I’ll need any reminding to piss myself if I’m caught in an avalanche. I really don’t! Second, I’m not sure knowing which way is up is going to make a great deal of difference if I’m under a hundred tons of snow at the time.

Sylvester tells me there was one man who was caught in an avalanche in his car, and drank 48 beers while he was trapped in his vehicle which had been rolled over and buried under the snow. He arrived home later covered in urine and told his wife the whole story. Frankly I think he probably made the whole thing up. It sounds to me like a pretty good Friday night out after work at the advertising agency.

I am currently working on a very interesting report for the advertising agency called “Understanding Women Who Love to Feminize Their Men. The Dobson Report.” This will soon be available to my Seahorse members.  For those who join my Patreon at the $1 a month level I will make it available as well just for the next 6 weeks.  I should be complete with that report in about a week. So, there’s a great reason for you to either join my seahorse level, or my Patreon if you haven’t already done so.  In the meantime I want to thank all my Good Gurls, and my Seahorse, Unicorn and Premium Members. I couldn’t do what I do without your support.

And speaking of support, I have recently shelled out for a new phone for Auntie Kittie. She has one those fancy phones that are tethered to the wall to prevent them being stolen. She asked me to buy her a new one because something called ‘the rotary dial’ broke on hers. It all sounds far too technical for me.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona.

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Come and sit on my Zamboni.

Hi,

I am out of breath as I write this. I’ve only just got home after a most disturbing incident. I feel I have to write and tell you about it.

The day started calmly enough. I did my early morning yoga class, and then as I sipped a morning coffee I watched Ali, my gardener, picking figs from a tree I have in the garden. He really is a treasure, and as I went out to check on my bees, who are prodigiously working away producing honey, I could hear him humming a strange tune.

I am finding these summer mornings delightful. It’s my usual practice to wear something simple – a plain tennis skirt, some wedges, and a pastel top. I like to keep things very simple. My brightly colored nail polish sets it all off rather stylishly.

Ali glanced round and saw me in the garden and then fell into silence for a moment.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, and carefully selected a juicy fig and handed it to me. “Such a health food, and a perfect one for you.”

“I do appreciate healthy foods, Ali,” I mused as I bit into the succulent fruit.

“That must be how you keep so trim,” he continued. “And is it not written that it is easier for a fat man to enter the kingdom of heaven, than to pass through the eye of a camel.”

I frowned and said, “I don’t think it is written. At least nowhere I’ve read it.”

I do wonder about Ali’s English. He was a professor of botany in Syria, before the terrible crisis over there. However, since coming here he’s been studying English. I’m not quite sure where his difficulty with English begins and his sense of irony ends. I added, “However, that is a perfect fig.”

It really is peaceful in my garden. The ripe fruit and soft early morning sun on my face reminded me how very fortunate I am to live here. Canada is truly a blessed country.

Picking up my bag and cell phone I decided to make the most of the morning, and took Hannibal, my dachshund, for his morning walk. As I strolled down Huckleberry Close I got a call from Sylvester, who has been learning to drive the Zamboni at the local ice arena. He’s really becoming quite skilled. He called to ask if I wanted to have breakfast with him at a café nearby. Naturally I agreed. They do the most delightful croissants, orange juice and coffee. The mother of the family that runs the café keeps bees and brings in her own honey. It’s really most delightful.

And so as Marjory was leaving for work, rather than drive I asked for a lift and rode with her the three miles to the arena, where she dropped me and decided to join us for breakfast. I think that after some years Marjory is warming to me. She still finds me a trifle odd, but she’s been a lot more settled since she started dating my wife’s childhood friend, Amanda.

Marjory and I walked into the huge ice arena, and there across the rink was Sylvester driving the Zamboni. The cool air wafting off the ice was a welcome relief from the heat. When Sylvester looked up he recognized Marjory and I and stopped the big ice grading machine.

“Come on over,” he shouted across the ice. “You want a ride?”

I’ve never been on a Zamboni before, so Marjory and I gingerly stepped out on the ice and tottered across to the vehicle. For those not familiar with the Zamboni, it’s a vehicle driven on an ice rink to resurface the ice. We do this so that the hockey games are played on a very flat surface. Ice has small crenelations if not properly smoothed making it unpleasant to skate, and the Zamboni does the job very well. Sylvester has been learning the skill recently, and now does the occasional turn at the arena cleaning up the surface for the skaters, and preparing it for the ritual slaughter of foreign hockey teams that keeps Canadians so amused. Really, it does. And they just keep coming back for more!

I stepped up onto the vehicle, my little tennis skirt riding a little high as I did so. Marjory followed me, looking a little bemused, and then Sylvester was off and driving around the ice, leaving a smooth glasslike finish behind us.

Now, keep in mind this was very early in the morning, and through the large windows out in the deserted car park I could see Marjory’s solitary car. As we rode around the ice I noticed someone was doing something to Marjory’s little car. The next thing I knew, the car was pulling away toward the exit of the car park.

“Marjory,” I said. “I think someone’s stealing your car!”

She looked out of the window, and sure enough, she shouted, “My car! My car!”

With remarkable composure Sylvester swung the big machine around toward the huge doors of the arena. He hit a remote control and the doors slowly began to open. I have to say I was most surprised at the turn of speed the Zamboni then displayed. Accelerating toward the opening doors Marjory and I clung on to our swarthy friend as the Zamboni flew off the ice and started out across the car park.

“Don’t worry,” said Sylvester, his hair swept back in the morning air as we raced across the car park. “I’ll catch him!”

The little car was exiting the car park and moving out into the slow moving morning traffic. Sylvester piloted the Zamboni skillfully out into the road and we shouted after the car thief, who was becoming increasingly ensnared in the traffic as we maneuvered between lanes, to the surprise of other drivers.

While Marjory called the local police, I hung on to the Zamboni and Sylvester steered us skillfully between cars with startled drivers looking incredulously at us as we navigated down the road in the ice smoothing machine.  It’s really not the sort of things you expect to see on the morning commute in 32 degrees of heat (89 degrees Fahrenheit).

As the cars ground to a halt at the traffic lights ahead, a police car appeared and started cutting through the traffic. Marjory was talking to the emergency operator, who relayed her instructions directly to the police cruiser.

A moment later the traffic stopped, police car on one side of Marjory’s car, and Zamboni halted flush with the drivers side. Marjory’s little car was completely boxed in. It was at this point that I decided it might be wise to make myself a little scarce. With a smile to Sylvester and a polite wave to the car thief, who was trying in vain to open the car door, I slipped of the Zamboni and made my way to the sidewalk.

As I left I could hear the sound of other sirens. Likely this would turn into a dogs dinner of police and press and god knows what.

At that moment the appalling Amanda called my cell.

“What on earth’s going on with Marjory? I’m trying to phone her and it just rings and rings,” she said sounding both annoyed and annoying.

“Ahh…. Her phone’s probably in her car.”

“So?” came the reply.

“Well, nothing really…” I wasn’t going to get into that with Amanda.

So, next time someone asks you if you’d like a ride on a Zamboni, keep in mind it may not go the way you planned. So much for breakfast! I’m sure Sylvester and Marjory will be occupied for a while there. I felt it best to hurry home to my kitchen, where I am writing this to you now.

I hope you’re enjoying the site. If you’re not, just come back a couple of days later and you’re likely going to find a whole lot of different content!

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona

I’m looking forward to getting felt up in the loft.

Happy New Year to all my members. And what a wonderful time to accept who you are, and create the what you desire! A good start might be to sign up for Auntie Kitties’s Diary and join me as a Good Gurl for just $4.99 a month.

It’s a great time to start doing all those things we’ve been avoiding, like making our house more energy efficient and saving the world. With this in mind Sylvester is helping me install some insulation in the loft.

With so little snow on the local ski hills I can’t help thinking Climate Change is once again proving to be an issue. I said this very thing to Sylvester just the other day.

“I think it’s important we all do our share to reduce our carbon foot prints,” I said to him while in the garden.

I noticed Ali checking the soles of his gardening boots, as I said that.

I continued, “The sooner I get felt up in the loft the better!”

At this point Sylvester made some disgusting comment, but really, what can one do! He really can be quite coarse.

Have a lovely New Year. 2024 is likely to be an exciting one. Pull up your panties and strap in – I said ‘strap in’ – it’s going to be an exciting ride!

Enjoy a little Abba below.

🙂

Fiona

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