tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83209420656605932102024-03-14T00:42:36.742-07:00Naoko Smith's blogDiary of a MILF on her way out of Stepford Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-42649803947703018132014-08-27T00:55:00.001-07:002014-08-27T00:55:12.006-07:00The Boxes in the Library<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXv8NHMlxb41MzgZoUq9ei9fcKo6EHgfAr2Jxwo8GSR823UhGKjIVSnEIWZzflb9kVa52rAXlOrrKL0QnYXPbI28KO_HwAqAtKgC_vp-Y_20MAbo1HVQhlhfitVXaQX7WiA20fyiLY5A/s1600/DSC_1733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXv8NHMlxb41MzgZoUq9ei9fcKo6EHgfAr2Jxwo8GSR823UhGKjIVSnEIWZzflb9kVa52rAXlOrrKL0QnYXPbI28KO_HwAqAtKgC_vp-Y_20MAbo1HVQhlhfitVXaQX7WiA20fyiLY5A/s1600/DSC_1733.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, dahlinks, hereby hangs a tale. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Acksherly, LOL, I am hoping three tales may be told about libraries; if some lazy men I know get their fingers working. On the keyboard, the keyboard! Get writing, that is what I mean. Gah! </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /> (<snerk>). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anyway, anyway. This box at the bottom is my pencil case. For many years now I have kept my pens and pencils - and as we moved into the digital age, my memory sticks - in a Roget & Gallet soap box. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yah, yah, I am old enough to still write with a pen (a fountain pen, <i>of course</i>). When I was a kitten we wrote all our essays by hand, there was no such thing as the internet (no, we managed fine, dahlinks, we found plenty to amuse ourselves with, believe me - wink) and the idea of storing massive amounts of sensitive data on a tiny passworded piece of metal and plastic was just science fiction. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For my pencil case, I use Roget & Gallet boxes which have three tablets of soap in. For a while they smell faintly deliciously of the soap - and so do I. Excuse me, do you mind not sniffing while I am telling my story? </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /> Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the boxes. After a while, they get tatty and start to fall apart, because they are only made of cardboard (very superior, expensive cardboard, <i>of course</i>). Then I go and buy some new soap and when I have finished the soap, I use that box. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.roger-gallet.co.uk/resources/products%5CRP10064_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.roger-gallet.co.uk/resources/products%5CRP10064_large.jpg" height="200" width="195" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.roger-gallet.co.uk/Ginger/3-soap-coffrets/Perfumed-soap-coffret-of-3-soaps-3x100g-p976.aspx" target="_blank">Roget & Gallet Gingembre</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The box depicted here is Green Tea, but much to my annoyance, Green Tea soap has been discontinued so I am trying out Ginger. You can have a sniff if you like now, and tell me what you think. What you think of the faint fragrance of soap! get your nose out of my bosoms, please. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So-o-o, I have in this slim decorative box pretty much everything of importance in my life: memory sticks with photos of Piglet since she was a tiny toddling piglet, data from my research projects, smutty stories; I have my fountain pen, a spare pen for students to borrow, a pair of scissors, two good sharpened pencils decorated with little animals eating noodles; and I have a pink Disney Princess pencil sharpener, a memorabilia museum coin which I was going to give to one of Swiss Army wife's boys but he already had that one, and the cash till from a Polly Pocket doll's shopping mall. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">About a year ago I lost the Roget & Gallet pencil case soap box for the first time in years of carrying Roget & Gallet soap boxes around. At first I didn't realise, as it was an odd period in my life when work was a bit temperamental (there wasn't any) and there was a lot of other stuff going on. Eventually it came to me that I had not seen the box in a while and I began to try to remember where I had had it last. I rang up the library, cuz I am always trotting in there in my top boots to print stuff off, cuz the printer cartridges for the amazing printer that the Baron decided to buy me for my birthday one year (yah, just what I had always wanted - not) proved to be so expensive it was cheaper to go and print out at the library. <i>No no, </i>they said, making noises as of someone rootling through lost property. They had not seen the box. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, I had this feeling of surprise. Like I knew really that the box was there. I began to look around my house in a desultory way, thinking it would turn up. I knew it would turn up, cuz it is my life, and I knew I had 'lost' it in that way that is saying to the universe: "things are a-changing round here, y'know". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One day a few months ago the library rang me. "Oh hullo," they said in innocent tones. "Have you lost a pretty box with pencils and that in, cuz we have found one and we opened it, and inside was a label with your name, address and phone number on it." Well, dahlinks, I was terribly pleased that it had turned up, so I let it go that I had already rung them once and they pretended they did not have the box. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOM-ElLhE7tSlXJb2qO2fClaIlqCvSp0NO7B1UVMJvK_SO3rZBAHuyxjUCVNYuITLF5uGeGjJFpQsVmAePz_mFqZcer4d1U6q4vwAxyz7pyVnkotdnpERk_dDmrQ59F447QvpbtLbS5E/s400/prop.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOM-ElLhE7tSlXJb2qO2fClaIlqCvSp0NO7B1UVMJvK_SO3rZBAHuyxjUCVNYuITLF5uGeGjJFpQsVmAePz_mFqZcer4d1U6q4vwAxyz7pyVnkotdnpERk_dDmrQ59F447QvpbtLbS5E/s400/prop.png" height="113" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://madovermad.blogspot.co.uk/2011_06_01_archive.html" target="_blank">blog about design</a>. </span></td></tr>
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I went and picked it up. The pretty lady librarian was laughing and saying: "when we opened it, it was like something out of that film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0211915/" target="_blank"><span class="title-extra" itemprop="name">Amélie</span></a>". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The young male librarian was pretending to be very busy doing something the other side of the issue and returns desk. </span><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I looked in the box, and one of the memory sticks was missing, so I thought I had probably left it in the computer in the library at the time I lost the box. The pretty lady librarian and I looked through the lost property box, while the young male librarian carried on being very busy on the other side of the issue and returns desk. The memory stick was not there. I was very surprised, but so it was. Or rather, so it wasn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then when I had gone home and made a nice cup of tea with a cream sandwich biscuit on the saucer, the library phoned me <i>again</i>. "La la la," they said innocently. "We have just found a memory stick which is like the one you said you lost." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yah, of course it was mine, and when I went to fetch it, the young male librarian was conspicuous by his being very busy again somewhere else in the library! </span><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I was still very grateful for the return of my box, and so I bought the librarians that other box of little chocolates. "It's not quite as interesting as the Amelie box," I said, "but I hope you will enjoy it." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now then, JackLuis and AreaMan. I happen to know (cuz I know things <snerk>), that you are both writing stories about hot librarians. Get on with it! I have written my library story (and edited your story, JackLuis, you big ole pussy cat) and I expect you to write yours. Oh wait a minute ... I am supposed to be writing the next bit of AreaMan's story, tee hee, silly me <snerk>. Well guys, if we can make sure the sex is safe sex, I will even review the stories on my blog - there, that's an offer </span><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/heart.gif" />.<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-35039869052995972932014-08-10T00:45:00.000-07:002014-08-10T00:45:37.711-07:00Best Breast Forward<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.motherearthnews.com/~/media/Images/MEN/Editorial/Articles/Magazine%20Articles/2013/08-01/Summertime%20Means%20Eating%20Melon/Melon-Varieties%20jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.motherearthnews.com/~/media/Images/MEN/Editorial/Articles/Magazine%20Articles/2013/08-01/Summertime%20Means%20Eating%20Melon/Melon-Varieties%20jpg.jpg" height="164" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Melons from <a href="http://www.motherearthnews.com/real-food/eating-melon-zmrz13aszmat.aspx#axzz39tUYwAf6" target="_blank">MotherEarthNews</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, darlings, the dear ole melons having arrived at the status of much beloved antiques, I was offered the statutory breast test to which all women over 50 are entitled in the UK. I wasn't quite sure what to expect so I thought I would write up what this entails for others who might be wondering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(I have lost friends to cancer myself; this is just a light-hearted account of what happens in a breast test where nothing is likely to go wrong. So only Read More if you are not too bothered, LOL. More serious account of the breast test from NHS website <a href="http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Cancer-of-the-breast-female/Pages/Screeningbreastcancer%28female%29.aspx" target="_blank">here</a>.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">First off, I was asked to pop down to the breast clinic. (This clinic is not in the horspital, and that already makes you feel better.) I was in and out within about half an hour, which is all to the good. Bra off in the changing rooms, pop your top on over the goods on display and barely time to sit down in a chair before I was whisked off to the mammogram machine. (They advise you beforehand to wear a top and skirt/trousers rather than a dress.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The mammogram was uncomfortable but not really painful. They squash your boobs one at a time between plates, and you have to grip onto a side of the machine and stand in close so they get a good layer of breast to photograph. But it really does not take long and then you are off - free! and can carry on with whatever you were doing that day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, if you are lucky then that is it for another four years. However, they did carefully warn me that many women who are first timer mammograms are called back, simply because they have no previous pix with which to compare your weird and wonderful jugs. When I got the letter saying come back, therefore, I just went: "Oh rats." And I said: "Double rats," (or words to that effect) when I read the letter more carefully and found out I must set aside the whole morning, or afternoon, for the further extensive tests which would be undertaken.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Admin/BkFill/Default_image_group/2013/1/16/1358349370611/Queen-Victoria-010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Admin/BkFill/Default_image_group/2013/1/16/1358349370611/Queen-Victoria-010.jpg" height="120" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Queen Victoria wears a little black outfit,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">from <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/jan/19/shooting-victoria-thomas-murphy-review" target="_blank">The Guardian</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I showed up at the clinic, there were women who said they had not slept since receiving their letter. Maybe they had other reasons for worrying about the big C.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.fabaudrey.com/wp-content/gallery/htsamscreen/htsam314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.fabaudrey.com/wp-content/gallery/htsamscreen/htsam314.jpg" height="135" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Audrey Hepburn shows she can take things seriously,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">from <a href="http://www.fabaudrey.com/" target="_blank">FabAudrey</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Personally I am like, <i>Que Sera Sera</i>, and I am not going to start suggesting chic black outfits to my friends until I know whether these will be required for my funeral or a jolly good cocktail party to celebrate not having to have a funeral. (Any excuse will do! Bottoms up! - wink.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Why was I confident, even after I had to have a number of further tests? Well, I added up the factors which make you more or less prone to breast cancer and I was always on the less side of the equation, so I figured I would be silly to start freaking out. Eg: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.cigarettespedia.com/images/e/ed/Sullivan_powell_co_ld_oriental_cigarettes_s_25_b_usa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.cigarettespedia.com/images/e/ed/Sullivan_powell_co_ld_oriental_cigarettes_s_25_b_usa.jpg" height="140" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nice box, nasty side effects LOL, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">image from <a href="http://www.cigarettespedia.com/index.php/Sullivan._Powell_and_Co.Ld._%28Oriental_Cigarettes%29_S-25-B_-_USA_%28Question%29" target="_blank">cigarettespedia</a></span></td></tr>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I gave up the Sullivan and Powell filterless Sub Rosa cigarettes a long long time ago. </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Being a working MILF ... uh, I mean mum! I mean <i>parent</i>, a working parent/carer, I rarely get the chance these days to go out and get off my trolley on booze. </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I live off Piglet's leftovers so my diet is largely made up of green foodstuffs packed with chlorophyll, which I cook to be crunchy not boiled out of every ounce of goodness. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Further tests you have involve initially a manual feel by a thoroughly professional doctor. Then they do an ultrasound, and you can lie there on the bed watching the pictures of your boob, not that these mean anything to me personally. (As you know, I am a Dr. but not that kind, I will just look at your leg and say: "Lovely, darling!" <snerk>.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, there is quite a bit of waiting around at this second set of tests. You also have to wear a fetching (not!) cape while you swan about between tests, carrying your bra and top in a basket with you. Other women sat biting their fingernails and showing the whites of their eyes but I carried on reading Auerbach's <i>Mimesis </i>cuz I knew there would be no WiFi so no chance to cruise smut unfortunately. (Which I do solely in order to review it on my <a href="http://feministerotica.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Feminist Erotica</a> blog of course! how I suffer, gosh, the things I have to paw through ... I mean pore through <snerk>.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I had had the all too professional feel, and they had rolled the boob around on the ultrasound checking out the lump they had found, they said they could not be absolutely sure it was nothing. They asked if it would be OK to do a biopsy. They did this in a rather Take-It-Or-Leave-It manner, but after all I am a MILF and it was a freebie, so I was like: "Sure! I'll have one of those."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.freefoto.com/images/09/05/09_05_24---Cream-Cake-Selection_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.freefoto.com/images/09/05/09_05_24---Cream-Cake-Selection_web.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.freefoto.com/preview/09-05-24/Cream-Cake-Selection" target="_blank">FreeFoto</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">LOL, the biopsy <i>is </i>painful, but I figured the reassurance that my lump really was just congealed cream cake as opposed to something alarming, would be worth the discomfort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For the biopsy they give you a small amount of anaesthetic, similar to that at the dentist's. They make a tiny incision in your boob, and insert a large bore needle through that into your lump to get a tissue sample. There is a thing which they press and it makes quite a startling sound. They do this two or three times.You can watch it on the ultrasound, thinking: 'How interesting!' and then when you realise it is your actual boob which is being pierced by the needle, 'Acksherly, I feel a bit sick, and think I will not look any more.' LOL. The nurse held my arm in a reassuring manner all through and they talked me through every stage before I had to endure it. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://comps.fotosearch.com/comp/FSD/FSD319/x18198848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://comps.fotosearch.com/comp/FSD/FSD319/x18198848.jpg" height="200" width="172" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.fotosearch.com/FSD319/x18198848/" target="_blank">Fotosearch</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Afterwards, they warned me not to do anything strenuous for a day or two. "What about the washing up?" I enquired. "Oh no! no washing up for six months," they said quickly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Milk it," the breast care nurse advised as I left, although to be fair to her it was only when I burst out laughing that she realised what she'd said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">TBH, I felt a bit sorry for myself, what with the sore boob and even though I knew there was very little chance of a bad outcome to the tests. So I made the Fella come and take me out for brunch and then I went home and went to bed, where I fell asleep watching LoTR3 on my flash new laptop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I did not feel much like larking about having a larf on the writers' chat board until I was quite sure that I would not have to change my signature from: <i>Just like one of the lads, with tits</i>, to <i>with tit</i>. (I did remark to one of my particular friends that I thought I could probably pick up more men with one boob than many women could with two - wink.) I assured everyone I was confident it would all be fine, however I did wonder if I would have to part with one of my boobs, which I am very attached to having grown them myself. My sister-in-law said would they not cut out the lump anyway, even if it was congealed cream cake, 'n I was like: "<i>Whaaaaat?!!!</i> No way. I might have to go down two or three cup sizes if they did that." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was incredibly impressed that the breast care nurse took the trouble to phone me on Saturday morning, having tried but not managed to get through the previous day. She let me know that my results had come through fine so there would be no need for me to go back and chat to the team again. It was really kind, since as I say, I realise there are many women who are worrying a great deal and even for me, it was a relief to tick that one off the list and and get on with enjoying the weekend.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCy37vmOMM8gwnNuAMi3OCPwhn-rcmu_1gUb8CU6X8ihhQp1XPgrKGY1OvquiMiu8rX3vnRKu6lIv9r0kWp71hMGYbnsCdsTqZh7aqVbQg-CAqac9PgAWex8pacGgLQYFfYpdGQJ4JiY/s1600/DSC_2102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCy37vmOMM8gwnNuAMi3OCPwhn-rcmu_1gUb8CU6X8ihhQp1XPgrKGY1OvquiMiu8rX3vnRKu6lIv9r0kWp71hMGYbnsCdsTqZh7aqVbQg-CAqac9PgAWex8pacGgLQYFfYpdGQJ4JiY/s1600/DSC_2102.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The nurse explained that my lump was just a something-ty something, ie a fatty deposit. I said: "I ate too many cream cakes," and she said very seriously: "No, that isn't how it works." I laughed and said: "No, no, I know that really. You can never have too many cream cakes," so she laughed too then and said: "Not in my opinion!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And I think after all that, I shall go out and buy myself a box of macaroons to hide at the back of the fridge and snorf up when Piglet is not around. Or, in fact, I am so pleased that I will not have to go for a series of excruciating and tiring operations and medical procedures, that I might even let her have one or two.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-19155208408415901502014-04-29T22:59:00.000-07:002014-04-29T22:59:47.158-07:00No you do not look fat in that<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.gograph.com/stock-illustration/flower-girl-on-bike.html" target="_blank">Stock Illustrations</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well it is Spring! so all my friends are anxsting about how much weight they think they have gained in the dank dark days of Winter. As you know, my advice is: 1) <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/way-of-milf-losing-weight-tip-1.html" target="_blank">buy a new bra</a>, 2) <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/way-of-milf-losing-weight-tip-2.html" target="_blank">have fun</a>, 3) <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/way-of-milf-losing-weight-tip-3.html" target="_blank">get on your bike</a>. Believe me, those cute li'l rolls of chub will disappear so fast you might even miss them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today I went off (in a well-fitted half-cup bra) on my bike to get some wild garlic to make <a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/wild-garlic-pestou.html" target="_blank">wild garlic pestou</a>. By 10 am, I had had a good wander along the paths of wild garlic and many other flowers, picked sufficient leaves, flirted with a dad I bumped into and was home already. Job done! cuz the first bit of exercise you do in the Spring should be much too easy for you, and then you feel like doing it again the next day rather than aching in every limb and like you are too old now to bother. (That pestou was fantastically delish! BTW, and prolly very good for you, although no use if you are into diets as it is so yummy you do not want to stop eating it.) </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I like getting out and about on my bike, but I am seriously not fussed about fat, sweet pea. ('Slong as it is not clinical obesity and bad for your <img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/heart.gif" />.) Someone I have cause to be majorly grumpy with recently had her swimsuit delivered 'by mistake' to our address. At first I thought the little skimpy garment was for Piglet, but then I realised that although it is a teeny tiny size 8, it did have a teeny tiny bit of cloth let into it for very small boobs. I am glad for that person that she is teeny tiny slim, but personally I would much rather have cleavage <snerk>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I do have a glamourous swimsuit, <i>of course</i>. However I get little chance to lounge about demonstrating how glamourously it matches a pair of glamourous earrings I happen to own in the same colour. Last time I wore it, I was shooting down a flume with my eyes screwed shut hoping I would not fly over the sides of the flume like a glamourous flying MILF, cuz when you are a MILF ... uh, I mean mom, you have to do these things, LOL.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I saw some summer pyjamas recently and I thought: 'Oooh, they are pretty, I wonder if someone could be persuaded to buy them for me,' and then I forgot about them. Then we were shopping for Piglet stuff in the emporium where they are to be found, and I thought: 'Mmm, perhaps I will try them on'. They did not have them in the size which I will probably be after I have bought a new bra and done more cycling than I do when it is wet, cold and I have a cough. I deliberated as to whether I should wait till I am slimmer. But then they will prolly not have the pyjamas any more at all at all. And the ones in the bigger size fitted comfortably. And I hate that feeling of: 'I <i>must </i>lose weight so as to get into this garment.' I just bought the bigger PJs. If I grow out of them, I can put a li'l tuck in the waistband. And I tell you what, they look lovely whatever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImGFmeE7oAHVUVbSoyUImvP2y9ELFmfCaN3IpOoM8Gj6aZyVx10xFKOLNR1c2IAgBNf3tpBfOQZYCs-v9oMjePYAPlbBH0qveP1M27iwxAgB5RDvg0MWTDCTJszWojhJWWEBf0xJloLk/s1600/DSC_1853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImGFmeE7oAHVUVbSoyUImvP2y9ELFmfCaN3IpOoM8Gj6aZyVx10xFKOLNR1c2IAgBNf3tpBfOQZYCs-v9oMjePYAPlbBH0qveP1M27iwxAgB5RDvg0MWTDCTJszWojhJWWEBf0xJloLk/s1600/DSC_1853.jpg" height="111" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I might need to feed up to stay large enough to keep the pyjama trousers up and not give the postman an unexpected treat in the mornings. Spring for me is not anyway the time of year to start a strict no-carbs diet (OK, no time of year is, LOL). It is Easter, and that means chocolate. At least Piglet has grown large enough now that the amount of chocolate she is given at this time of year is no longer the same as her body weight. However, she is likely still to need considerable assistance. I am not joking here! one year we had so much chocolate at Easter that I had to recycle it at Christmas by melting it down and spreading it on the Christmas biscuits. Ah, what we moms have to suffer! (wink). Mmm, pestou nomnomnom, mmm, chocolate mmmmmm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-87674795011909406642014-03-23T10:42:00.000-07:002014-03-23T10:42:24.610-07:00Spring Pussy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Poor <a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1381808&page=submissions" target="_blank">Johneb87</a> is wrapped in grey woolly winter-y weather and asked for some pix of the sunshine and daffodils over here. I thought I'd take this opportunity to give you the latest on the kitty cats too, LOL. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am amazed that we have got any sunshine - two weeks ago it was all doom and gloom with heavy stormy rain and thunderous tempestuous tides washing our coastline away. Now it's brisk breezes (get that laundry out there, shake those buns!) and pussies playing in the long grass (wink). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrdBVz6ac6Hr73ljAfcw6msYmvjE_lgXSs8KqVCQb7iJ6ZVEObGyDxrl44JApNkrXa70QOyf4yGkZ8UhLtd7pq1uS6FB4GFCebOQNRUTmsGI9pjGWojL0Ya2E-Mi-UrbQa-QdUxmmLWM/s1600/blog+DSC_1748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrdBVz6ac6Hr73ljAfcw6msYmvjE_lgXSs8KqVCQb7iJ6ZVEObGyDxrl44JApNkrXa70QOyf4yGkZ8UhLtd7pq1uS6FB4GFCebOQNRUTmsGI9pjGWojL0Ya2E-Mi-UrbQa-QdUxmmLWM/s1600/blog+DSC_1748.jpg" height="200" width="182" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Eowyn is quite grown up now! (Yes, I have had her spayed. You know my views on safe sex. Microchipped too. I take good care of my pussy - wink.) </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62RT3b3X0QRaYGDtFfvHKiv06-OOtqhdV9Rplng3tgtdyisbmD3e0b8DDUkwah6VIXKMs0ocEKNlC-g6Kax_6E7lZSdduaF9yVaq9cN0xedi31epq0H_HwCIfilV-uvad3DI4Ku9aYLg/s1600/blog+DSC_1750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62RT3b3X0QRaYGDtFfvHKiv06-OOtqhdV9Rplng3tgtdyisbmD3e0b8DDUkwah6VIXKMs0ocEKNlC-g6Kax_6E7lZSdduaF9yVaq9cN0xedi31epq0H_HwCIfilV-uvad3DI4Ku9aYLg/s1600/blog+DSC_1750.jpg" height="200" width="161" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Lakhi really is a
magnificent beast. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And here is Eowyn, imitating the action of the
tiger. No, don't jump on your mum and try to scram her! Really - bad
idea ... oh dear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The cats are very playful, although Lakhi still waits for Eowyn to scoffle up all the nice bits of cat food before she goes and gets her meal. I save some special bits of <strike>chicken</strike> cheap tinned cat food for her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Lakhi helps plant out some French tarragon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Zzzzzz </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To cheer John up even more, I am including some pix of the walk to school. Magnolias and cherry trees have burst into blossom along our route. I'm sure you feel much better now, John! checking out these pictures as you shiver in the bus stop on your way to work. Anyway, I better mop the floor, or maybe I'll just cycle home past the flowering trees and eat some Prestat dark chocolate with raspberries while watching <i>The Hobbit</i> </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img alt=":devil:" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" />. Again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-87681354053632635492014-01-04T00:15:00.000-08:002014-01-04T00:15:35.851-08:00My favourite things ... (boots)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsIQraVDJJR96lOddpoMXRcQHRVGOjMJjz3lSZBxUXKCujkchuzuVsuIzwlhbM21z15Ujy3KcKI-qNguxJTDfbio5vWGEmPA6S_RYWm-Is7rrixAh1R0N5zprfc00z-z41eLGrw29Tn4/s1600/Photo0715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsIQraVDJJR96lOddpoMXRcQHRVGOjMJjz3lSZBxUXKCujkchuzuVsuIzwlhbM21z15Ujy3KcKI-qNguxJTDfbio5vWGEmPA6S_RYWm-Is7rrixAh1R0N5zprfc00z-z41eLGrw29Tn4/s200/Photo0715.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Alas pink wellies! (sniff), I loved you well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I bought the pink wellies in one of my MILFier moments. Seeing that they had adult sizes of the charming pink wellies with a ribbon which I was about to buy for Piglet, I bought a pair so we could match each other </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" />. (Looking back, I realise they were probably larger children's wellies not in fact adult ones, LOL.) What I failed to remember was that Piglet would grow out of her pink wellies; and I would be stuck wearing mine for several years looking like someone who thinks pink wellies with a ribbon are chic. </span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mftYM8o6U_mE4X_A8x5KkeBaFltMF0EwJhfuKO13cMFxyi-TYA7e7PS5KvJrAGARj3whID3rRsC35se2bKOLgDsZuD51g2V5aR93m5uBHMYb6GhNxhbG5Nb7LhdfeuYm9ZdMIbRtUkM/s1600/Photo0758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mftYM8o6U_mE4X_A8x5KkeBaFltMF0EwJhfuKO13cMFxyi-TYA7e7PS5KvJrAGARj3whID3rRsC35se2bKOLgDsZuD51g2V5aR93m5uBHMYb6GhNxhbG5Nb7LhdfeuYm9ZdMIbRtUkM/s200/Photo0758.jpg" width="150" /></a>I wore them on the school run and for muddy walks in the Valleys meditating on werewolves. I wore them to the beach in winter so I could still wade in the waves. I wore them while cycling and shopping. Sometimes I surreptitiously slipped them off if I was in the wifi cafe all day long. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">OK, I admit it. I LOVED THEM! About six months ago when they sprang a leak, I was devastated. I tried wearing a plastic bag in the one with a hole but my foot still got wet. (I don't know why this happens. It's one of those weird anomalies in physics which will be discovered by a man one day and get an important name </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" />.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I looked casually then frantically round the shops for a cheap and cheerful replacement. All wellies were horribly expensive and/or horrible. </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.hunter-boot.com/Upload/Products/Images/W23616_MGR_2.jpg?width=700&height=700" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.hunter-boot.com/Upload/Products/Images/W23616_MGR_2.jpg?width=700&height=700" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Before the pink wellies, I had Hunters. They were gorgeous and I LOVED THEM. So did lots of other people. I was once pushing a quite large strapping Piglet in her pushchair along the station platform, hung about with buckets and spades and a picnic basket, wearing old and tatty beach-going clothes. "Nice boots," said a young man appreciatively, in a tone that suggested he had not fully grasped my exhausted expression, hardly indicating I would wish to indulge in further piglet-producing activity. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpCAJ8TByzpcCLO8INTjnvwlSAOz-o8rGZsgNIFdF-ulzj1Wb6mS2u08LjaK4b0Y1JP_uuHMUAV0uKu1xx7vkjN2TWjwXIM6J8qN98iDxv_08l_rAuan1pMIspYGXdKFo1b7e0EA4v9s/s1600/DSC_1646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpCAJ8TByzpcCLO8INTjnvwlSAOz-o8rGZsgNIFdF-ulzj1Wb6mS2u08LjaK4b0Y1JP_uuHMUAV0uKu1xx7vkjN2TWjwXIM6J8qN98iDxv_08l_rAuan1pMIspYGXdKFo1b7e0EA4v9s/s200/DSC_1646.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anyway, I don't know why, but I had got it into my head that they would have nice wellies in Tescos. I tried several times to go to the nearby Tesco superstore but it's not part of my normal shopping routine and my efforts were stymied. Finally I managed to get down there and indeed there was the perfect pair of wellies ... and they still had them in my size! Just look at these, they are totally the thing. Hopefully I will get some old gentleman saying: "Now, my proud beauty, I have you in my power," (tee hee hee!) instead of some ignorant young thing going: "Nice boots." (Puh.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What is most hilarious about these wellies is that I bought the leather version a few months ago. (That pair was of course considerably more expensive.) I have always wanted a pair of brown-topped black boots and suddenly they're in fashion this year. Only the other day I sniggered to myself on walking past some young kitten who had a cheap imitation pair - and considerably worse skin than me too! tee hee hee. If only I had realised that a patent plastic pair was readily available in Tescos for a tenth of the price. (No no, dahlinks, I would have bought the boot-iful (ho ho) leather ones anyway, I like the real deal - wink.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-7176943067621067862013-12-05T13:05:00.003-08:002013-12-05T13:05:49.112-08:00Crybabies<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgzc1faJ8N9NjXMSCTGq83YRfa2OL_UdBERef-Qkhhl6vmlvXAlZVFYiLL1168mbYu2FxYtCEtFokeyq6MMaON1MJUlh3PLR_RuomB-PTok2Cdh55i5hicTR6CODbGYkG5sIZJ5TVS9lc/s1600/jill-greenberg-crying-photoshopped-babies-end-times-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgzc1faJ8N9NjXMSCTGq83YRfa2OL_UdBERef-Qkhhl6vmlvXAlZVFYiLL1168mbYu2FxYtCEtFokeyq6MMaON1MJUlh3PLR_RuomB-PTok2Cdh55i5hicTR6CODbGYkG5sIZJ5TVS9lc/s200/jill-greenberg-crying-photoshopped-babies-end-times-10.jpg" width="167" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By <a href="http://reelfoto.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/jill-greenberg-cry-baby.html" target="_blank">Jill Greenberg</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To be fair to him, this is not something the Baron has ever done. It was my Dad who used to do this thing. I was reminded of it recently while chatting with a friend whose Baron seems to be doing something similar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I was young, if I was winning an argument with my Dad, he would start to be mean. He would get rough-tempered, while insisting that he was right. I would get indignant and assert my more carefully thought through opinion, because I knew it was right. After a while I would start to cry with frustration. Then he would start laughing and say: <i>Yes, yes, have it your way, you're right, don't worry about it. </i>I would feel angry and confused. I knew I was right but I felt like my Dad was still winning, cuz he had only capitulated over the argument on emotional grounds, not on intellectual grounds.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/art/images/work/T/T05/T05010_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.tate.org.uk/art/images/work/T/T05/T05010_10.jpg" width="163" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By <a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/picasso-weeping-woman-t05010" target="_blank">Picasso</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When those in power use illegitimate means to assert a view of the world which we know to be false, it can make us feel as if we are the mad ones. Foucault argues that the hysterical woman was one of four highly symbolic figures around whom a politics of sexuality, a matrix of power, was operated. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I realised what it was that my Dad was doing to me, I swore I would never cry while arguing with a man again. Occasionally I would find myself putting my point of view clearly and quietly with a man who would become so angry at his failure to make me cry that I would become fearful he might hit me. There was no going back. When I cry these days, it's not because I can't convince someone-else of the error of their ways although I sometimes say: "Sure. Have it your way, I'm not worried about it." </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-33726290241760083912013-11-23T13:51:00.002-08:002013-11-23T13:51:53.890-08:00Curiosity Nearly Kills the Kitten<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdsvtwG1deXFqkDoQwqZKqOTa03PlExfkU8ClL3Dv7IZD3W3Q-ALXgC6-NWttLhrwfPBKNKbd3dXtKNuLoPdLLgABhI9wOJbrMz7zt1AXsbpOW6NGscfaSHhNhZJmwmzjvMIg6deqatU/s1600/DSC_1559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdsvtwG1deXFqkDoQwqZKqOTa03PlExfkU8ClL3Dv7IZD3W3Q-ALXgC6-NWttLhrwfPBKNKbd3dXtKNuLoPdLLgABhI9wOJbrMz7zt1AXsbpOW6NGscfaSHhNhZJmwmzjvMIg6deqatU/s320/DSC_1559.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To boldly go! ... and she nearly did.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, dahlinks. I actually liked this picture because of the colours. The flash lighting made the kitten and the washing machine all silvers and blue-ish. There was a sort of hilarious space age character to it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I posted it on Facebook and my friends went: <i>Oooh, be careful! we know people who lost their cat when it snugged up in the nice warm tumble drier</i>. 'N I was like, "Gah! I am a hard-line eco-MILF. I do not have a tumble drier! I use the sun and the wind and my Brabantia rotary drier ... and cubs with only their jeans on </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img alt=":devil:" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" /> (shake those buns, get that laundry out there!)"</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well ... yesterday most unusually I drank a beer. I had found this beer lying around when I came back from <a href="http://feministerotica.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/a-night-in-museum-review.html" target="_blank">the burlesque</a> and the Baron had had a baronial friend round to console him for having to do his once-a-year piglet-minding. The friend had of course brought bottles and bottles of the stuff with him. This beer was Marston's Old Empire, which I know and love and I felt it needed the full appreciation of an expert on postcolonial politics so I moved it from the fridge to the cupboard full of cooking sauces. I mean, <i>of course </i>if some Baron happened to find it in there while cooking </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" />, he might drink it up, but I was pretty sure it would be safe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/onesport/cps/480/media/images/71296000/jpg/_71296153_cdf_221113_cf_wales_v_tonga04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/onesport/cps/480/media/images/71296000/jpg/_71296153_cdf_221113_cf_wales_v_tonga04.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Man of the match Luke Charteris gets </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a cuddle from a Tongan forward.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="http://m.bbc.co.uk/sport/rugby-union/25043539" target="_blank">Pic from BBC</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So-o-o, I had the beer, while watching a lacklustre Wales v. Tonga rugby match (nice bums on those Tongan forwards er ... I mean what excellent scrummaging) and doing the ironing. Then I shoved a load of laundry in and pottered about doing washing up. I kept hearing this strange banging sound, and I was puzzled cuz I know the neighbour's sons are too naff to have got themselves girlfriends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now I am acksherly a very careful MILF even when I have had a beer, so I was already checking around the house in a surely-not kind of way to make sure the kitten was larking about on the stairs or something. I could still hear this strange banging so I went and glanced at the washing machine. OMG! Imagine my emotions when a little tabby face peered out of the glass door at me! Je-esus H!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">That silly thing was wringing wet when she came out! Lucky I am overly cautious about kittens n' piglets and was keeping my eye out even though I thought it was impossible she would ever get stuck in there, so the wash cycle was still at an early stage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">No, there will be no pix of dripping wet pussy on here!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cpJUIBUX1_JDONd0KU7UXZpOeZ3Xsbeajw2L_xbtUKPSJhUcks8Q__HZeAVLd_-tAmg3NOml-rc5nbIekd9E1mlfZA_prbqGn61HWyTlwBV9BA76SbjeLkdiRzRnqRCVmEdUmNRQeNc/s1600/DSC_1575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cpJUIBUX1_JDONd0KU7UXZpOeZ3Xsbeajw2L_xbtUKPSJhUcks8Q__HZeAVLd_-tAmg3NOml-rc5nbIekd9E1mlfZA_prbqGn61HWyTlwBV9BA76SbjeLkdiRzRnqRCVmEdUmNRQeNc/s200/DSC_1575.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pic taken today. Don't worry, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1381808&page=submissions" target="_blank">johneb87</a>. See, she is fine.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gah, the poor little beast was shivering and soaking wet. I had to rub her down with towels, then Mama Cat pitched in and gave her a nice licking. I gave her some chicken and kitten milk. Ummmm, OK, it was best breast of chicken - but that was all I had! apart from chicken nuggets - yuck, I would not feed that rubbish to my cat! I only keep them for Piglet. I put a hot water bottle in the kitten's little 'bedroom' she has made for herself on the bottom shelf of the linen cupboard, and a snuggy clean cat blanket, and she came in to me for a little snuggle too. (Ordinarily I ban the cats my bedroom, as I do not wish them to think they can bring their furry or froggy little friends around for a party in the night.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well! the kitten is a typical teenager, and I was wondering about giving her a wash - cuz she was kinda smelly and I do think it is important to keep your pussy clean. Still, that wasn't how I meant to do it. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhh1qi_Qg7viLPpRyZMGrJ2Hr978ETue-H8QKl21rZmBFP_8N42mZsTQJQ3LXDddB_uYvgKHboLKLIg74i9CWfH6kATVC5INtuuSlTsTLlh-e1vyManNOtPKrqJl74IW3CSA3hoGgDTQk/s1600/mms_20131123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhh1qi_Qg7viLPpRyZMGrJ2Hr978ETue-H8QKl21rZmBFP_8N42mZsTQJQ3LXDddB_uYvgKHboLKLIg74i9CWfH6kATVC5INtuuSlTsTLlh-e1vyManNOtPKrqJl74IW3CSA3hoGgDTQk/s200/mms_20131123.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Far from learning from her experience, she jumped up on the counter and started sniffing at the cooker on which I was frying some sausages. I suppose that instead of bejazzling, kittens these days are into frazzling their whiskers </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" />. She is fine, although she did seem quieter than usual - it's the shock, I expect. In the evening she snuggled up on to my bosom for a lo-o-ong snooze while we all watched Doctor Who. He is 50 like me! but without cleavage (wink). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pass that whisky, who said you could put it away yet? The whiskers are not the only things frazzled round here, y'know! I acksherly broke a fingernail trying to get the washing machine door open! that's how upset I was. Gah, as I took the wash out the machine this morning to hang it on the line, I could not repress a shudder! I swear, if I was not already becoming a silver foxy lady, the cat and kitten would be turning me gray. (I love the way Americans spell grey </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/heart.gif" />.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-68802313739133865372013-11-14T12:02:00.000-08:002013-11-14T12:13:28.114-08:00Menopausal? Or just Mad<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.egs.edu/fileadmin/images/faculty/judithbutler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.egs.edu/fileadmin/images/faculty/judithbutler.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Judith Butler. (Hannah Arendt </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Professor at the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.egs.edu/faculty/judith-butler/biography/" target="_blank">European Graduate School</a>.) </span></td></tr>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>(I'm illustrating this blogpost with pix of older women.) </i> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, dahlinks, I am a postmodern feminist. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What does that mean? It means I think that social life is
all discourse. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What the F. does that mean? </span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Discourse, dahlink, means words, talk, sentences, writing.
To a postmodern thinker, social life is not ‘real’, it is all a discursive
positioning. Yes, there are biological differences but believe me these are
insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It is how the differences are ‘said’ that
makes men and women so totally different that people even write books saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Men Come from Venus and Women Come from Mars</i>. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.biography.com/imported/images/Biography/Images/Profiles/D/Judi-Dench-9271553-3-402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.biography.com/imported/images/Biography/Images/Profiles/D/Judi-Dench-9271553-3-402.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.biography.com/people/judi-dench-9271553" target="_blank">Dame Judi Dench</a></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">LOL, I did that to show you how discourse works. We have got
it in our heads through centuries of telling myths and stories, making
paintings and metaphorical remarks, that Mars is a martial planet – the God of
War. Venus is the Goddess of Love. So men must be from Mars, women from Venus; the
book title sounds stupid if it is put the other way around. The book title
itself contributes to our continuing perception that men are more physical and
violent, while women are cuddly wuddly lovey dovey – oooh, just give her a
Mills and Boon and a box of choccies and wait for the PMT to go away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sometimes, tho’, it is quite hard to be a postmodern
feminist and an actual woman. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Once I went to read my paper on how gender is performative
in the heterosexual matrix. I was wearing this chic white skirt. I started my
period without any feminine hygiene items (as they are tactfully called in the
shops) in my handbag. Not only was I in fear of spoiling my chic white skirt
with bright red patches – in public; I also felt highly emotional cuz that is
how you feel when the hormones are at a high and some part of your brain
realises that yet again the powerfully academic feminist part has stupidly
failed to get pregnant. (“Hey, girlfriend! the biological clock is rapidly
approaching apoplectic alarm status here, y’know! Get on with it, you know you
are only designed to have babies.” “Shut up, I am a powerful academic brain,
y’know. I am not so designed only to have babies, I have a mind! somewhere in
this sea of hormones.”) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://distilleryimage9.ak.instagram.com/6ef3fd8c254011e3815e22000a1f8e11_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://distilleryimage9.ak.instagram.com/6ef3fd8c254011e3815e22000a1f8e11_7.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.cher.com/photo/todayshow-chertoday-18146" target="_blank">Cher</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is most annoying to be a postmodern thinker and still
have hormones, but there it is. And what I think is, the hormones have an
effect but the way I feel about them is so influenced by the discourse that is
social life, that any small physical effects which hormones might have is as a
flyspeck in the universe by comparison. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The poet Avril Rogers-Wright puts this much more beautifully
than I can in her poem about periods. She talks about menstruating as this red
river of anger and how it supposedly makes you mad. She describes how she came
to terms with the emotions which come over her during menstruation and instead
starting feeling beautiful at that special time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I think about menstruating that it’s like an emotional
magnifying glass. If I’m running around stressing myself out, when I’m having
my period I get hyper-stressed. If I’m in a relaxed zone, it can be a lovely
time of feeling at my most delicately feminine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02389/maggie-smith_2389599b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="124" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02389/maggie-smith_2389599b.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/downton-abbey/9657530/Dame-Maggie-Smith-on-the-road-to-recovery-after-rumoured-heart-scare.html" target="_blank">Dame Maggie Smith</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And now, bunnykins, let us take the menopause as another
example. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am a li’l bit poorly right now, having several periods
rather closer together than they are supposed to happen. As I am the great five
oh, when I consult people about this, they suggest I might be menopausal. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">‘Cept they do not say ‘menopausal’. (Remember that we are
talking about medical professionals here, not Dr.s like me who will only give
your leg a good grope and say: “Lovely, dahlink.”)These doctors say, in a
dropped voice and sort of hushed whisper: “It could be *dropped voice* <b><i>Your
Age</i></b>.” Or they say: “It could be *dropped voice* <b><i>The Change</i></b>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I swear, it’s like a bunch of the living dead ghoulishly
rubbing their hands at the prospect of a virgin bride with all her sweet young
flesh on display on an altar. (No fantasies now! I am no virgin bride; ex-rugby player
with mommy fat remember (wink).) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/42/Aung_San_Suu_Kyi_17_November_2011.jpg/220px-Aung_San_Suu_Kyi_17_November_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/42/Aung_San_Suu_Kyi_17_November_2011.jpg/220px-Aung_San_Suu_Kyi_17_November_2011.jpg" width="154" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aung_San_Suu_Kyi" target="_blank">Aung San Suu Kyi</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I mean, what will happen if it is *dropped voice* <b><i>The
Change</i></b>? For half a day, owing to this discursive positioning of menopause on
the part of the medical profession, I was quite panicked. I thought I would be
Old. I thought I would be Ugly. I thought I would be the Living Dead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then I remembered that I am Old. Old is not Ugly nor the
Living Dead. I remembered that when I turned the great five oh, I thought:
‘Hooray! Callooh Callay! I am 50 so I am surely no longer sexy and can flirt as
much as I like. Maybe people will even be more interested in my brain than my
boobs at last!’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Whoops! that was a big mistake, LOL. The melons are still
attracting more attention than the charming and beautiful brain cells. And I
suppose if I am experiencing *dropped voice* <i><b>The Change</b></i> they will not shrink
overnight into something as flat as people used to believe the Earth to be?
although maybe one day I will wake up and look in the mirror and go, ‘Phew, no
longer fairest in the land, people might listen to what I’m saying without
drooling which will mean I no longer need to carry that little packet of
decorative tissues to hand to them.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Gosh! that will mean having to buy a whole new set of
lingerie! Er ... I mean, that will mean I no longer have to flirt and wear
silly lingerie.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gah, it was the same thing with glasses. I thought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Men don’t make passes/ At girls who wear
glasses</i>! Finally I will be free to discourse on gender as performative in
the heterosexual matrix without my listeners being distracted by how well I
‘do’ gender speech acts. But that damn opticians cheated me! They sold me glasses
that are discursively positioned as cute as a button, and now I am just peering
over my glasses in a manner which causes people to say: “Can you include the
glasses in your filthy depraved stories, Dr. Smith? Pretty please?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What was I saying? Oh yes, the menopause. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, there are enough beautiful older women around for me
to feel convinced that Old is not Ugly. (Although the discourse on their sex
lives is a bit unfortunate, <a href="http://www.hive.co.uk/dvd/ladies-in-lavender/5646403/" target="_blank"><i>Ladies in Lavender</i></a>, no thank you – not for this
li’l MILF. Or Granny ILF, as I suppose I will become.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02669/vanessa-and-james_2669719b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="124" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02669/vanessa-and-james_2669719b.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't believe <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/10302849/Vanessa-Redgrave-and-James-Earl-Jones-never-too-old-to-fall-in-love.html" target="_blank">The Telegraph</a> had the cheek<br />
to ask Vanessa Redgrave if she was too old<br />
to play Shakespeare's Beatrice as a lover.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As for the rest of it, it all seems to be suggesting that
you may experience mood swings as you enter this hormonal phase. Gosh, that
sounds familiar! So let me get this right. If I feel a bit cross right now,
nobody around me need think it is because they did not put the bins out, hang
the washing, cook lunch, get Piglet out to the swimming pool, realise Piglet
was not wearing her expensive (bright pink) coat when she left the swimming
pool and tell her to go back to the changing rooms for it, (meaning Someone-else had to phone the swimming pool to check it was there and pick it up when they went back for synchronised swimming). It will be all down
to my hormones. They can just go: “Yes, dear, take little blue tablets and we will
be fine. You will be able to carry on putting bins out, cooking, hanging
laundry, ordering the kind of milk I said I wanted even though I acksherly
drink Piglet’s milk which is tastier and all on twopence halfpenny while I go
down the pub.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, honey, if you want my opinion, I am not *dropped
voice* <b><i>Changing</i></b>. Except into someone who does not have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Welcome</i>, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wipe Your Feet
On Me Too Why Don’t You</i> tattooed on my chest. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">NB, you may be saying: She is being a mite hypocritical here! Writing one day about how having <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/how-housework-saved-my-life-ii.html" target="_blank">two miscarriages made it hard for her to write articles</a> and the next about how it is all discourse. It is not 'all discourse' in that dismissive tone of voice, sweet pea. What was a problem was how the miscarriages are discursively positioned. On the one hand the medical professionals going *bright breezy tone* <i>It will be just like a bad period</i>. On the other hand total silence; no opportunity from the day I ought to have been resting to get over the miscarriages, to take account of this minor physical episode in my life.That is the thing about occupying the subject position that is womanhood in discourse. You can't 'speak' as an academic writer when you're trying to say: "I'm losing a lot of blood (and a baby) here, guys, can I have a rest from the mopping of floors so as to get back into the academic writing in a minute?" You will just sound like a silly woman and not at all at all the sort of person who ought to be employed to give lectures and write papers on gender politics. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hmmmmm? LOL. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-2816626012844156342013-11-13T22:35:00.002-08:002013-11-13T22:35:36.528-08:00Pussy Pix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYSJQzQaubzyJjPS0tKC2MrrPyKUNAUmcIa91FvYMeHQXsxxCmAvc7nV5LbMZKz5kMl3Ld536hQ_RaiSR7rG_azg71adFdp4q0SOa1UJ4mfLnlxJ-39c05aoJ0BFum_tLg-sU2JT14fY/s1600/Shadow+cats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYSJQzQaubzyJjPS0tKC2MrrPyKUNAUmcIa91FvYMeHQXsxxCmAvc7nV5LbMZKz5kMl3Ld536hQ_RaiSR7rG_azg71adFdp4q0SOa1UJ4mfLnlxJ-39c05aoJ0BFum_tLg-sU2JT14fY/s200/Shadow+cats.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Latest pix of the kitty cats. They are doing very well. Lakhi has started bringing mice back for Eowyn (ick ick!) and I have developed an amazing way of catching them which will make my fortune! Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps, LOL. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-2133165586956210232013-11-12T06:34:00.001-08:002013-11-12T06:34:50.352-08:00How Housework Saved My Life - II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>NB, this post has turned into a bit more of a blurt. Housework really did save my life! More on that in the next post. This one is about why my life needed saving in the first place. </i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6187/6107247987_685910e99d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6187/6107247987_685910e99d.jpg" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly no longer available from <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=200665271060&item=200665271060&lgeo=1&vectorid=229466" target="_blank">bloom-bloom</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hopefully these blogposts will not be like the Rocky films and I will not be returning aged and unsuited to the role for <i>How Housework Saved My Life part 59</i>. Oh! I am aged already, so no danger of that, LOL. Unless they do <i>How Housework Saved My Life, Return from the Grave Special Horror Edition</i>, LOL. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.theapronstore.co.uk/uploads/images_products_large/2852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.theapronstore.co.uk/uploads/images_products_large/2852.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.theapronstore.co.uk/">The Apron Store</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Okay, today I am a bit OMG! and li'l tears in the big brown eyes (that's behind the annoyingly sexy new reading glasses), cuz I acksherly did a bit of academic reading. For years and years, people said to the MILF: "You ditz. Why are you not writing academic papers?" and the MILF went, "Oh gosh, what a ditz I am, I am prolly not worthy of a proper job, better stick with the cleaning which I do so badly but in a really fetching apron."<br />
<br />
Then a couple of years ago I started to think about things that had happened which might possibly have meant I did not really have the wherewithal to write academic papers and I said: "Just a minute. I think you could have given me a bit of a break here, lads. If you do not wish to give me a job cuz I am not doing academic writing, fine, but do not make me feel like a silly woman about it."<br />
<br />
(I ought to explain that if they are recruiting someone to teach in a proper academic institution, they of course ask about their teaching experience but they acksherly only care whether they have got academic publications. They will take a spotty kid with no teaching experience or discernible ability at all if the kid has got enough publications to get into the Research Excellence Framework. This is for complicated reasons which are not sexy; ask me about them another time if you are really interested.) <br />
<br />
This is what I was doing:<br />
<ul><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.toughpigs.com/images/anthnewstuff11ah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.toughpigs.com/images/anthnewstuff11ah.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic from <a href="http://www.toughpigs.com/anthnewstuff11.htm" target="_blank">Tough Pigs Anthology</a></td></tr>
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<li>I brought up Piglet from the intensive period of constant nappy changing and breast feeding to today, when she can go to several after school activities teaching her how to do Scottish and Jewish dancing, cook burritas and karate chop her way out of trouble, and now that she does all that instead of me needing to literally hold her up all the time so she can walk, mysteriously I have got time to read academic articles. (NB you cannot write academic articles if you do not read other academic articles which you write about.) </li>
<li>I taught, sometimes several courses at once, and wrote lectures instead of academic papers - in order to bring money into the home and pay for our food while the Baron paid for the mortgage. (Recently money for food has mysteriously become available from his high salary but at the time I was teaching I did think we would starve without my writing the lectures till 2 am, then getting up at 7 to make breakfast before going to teach my lectures.) </li>
<li>I just want to restate the above from the point of view of the lads who did not give me a permanent job. I taught, sometimes several courses at once, picking up at the last minute and managing in a thoroughly professional manner, a wide range of teaching when other lecturers on full time permanent contracts went off on the sick. I did this for a very low salary, never making trouble and often undertaking additional research activity as well. I did not get a job although I did this for five years in different academic institutions in the area and sometimes my colleagues even wrote to say: "Please do not sack the MILF cuz she work so hard she makes our lives much easier," but the management Knew Better. </li>
<li>I moved house, like, four times. I do not say 'we' moved house, cuz I do not use the Royal 'we'; I am a Republican. I once moved house on a weekend when the Baron was away at a conference, and I was grateful cuz it meant he paid for people to pack the house instead of insisting we try to do it ourselves. (The less expensive firm he selected over the more expensive one I wanted stole some of his DVDs.) </li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXYorhi-GV15Kq5sXin4sWny5CbNfr7CUaWyY0beWVpFiEc6jCzCqer8sWtna5rgYF244b1qZty2esyPsMmUR1n2Lb8VVjOhBg_d77sFIIJ6CxFMam6ocEHuxJWetkJeHWcmlH3B2b08/s1600/DSC_1505.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXYorhi-GV15Kq5sXin4sWny5CbNfr7CUaWyY0beWVpFiEc6jCzCqer8sWtna5rgYF244b1qZty2esyPsMmUR1n2Lb8VVjOhBg_d77sFIIJ6CxFMam6ocEHuxJWetkJeHWcmlH3B2b08/s200/DSC_1505.jpg" width="200" /></a>
<li>Every time I moved house, I also found schools, childminders, new friends to come round to tea with Piglet, suitable food shops, plumbers, electricians and assorted other builders, some of whom made passes at me and others just stood in my kitchen giggling softly although they did make a nice job of the back step, I will give them that. </li>
<li>At a crucial time in these moves, when I had some income from a job while I was on sabbatical and meant to take time out to write academic articles, I had two miscarriages. I was told that this would be rather like having a bad period. It wasn't. I don't know about you, but I am incapable of writing an academic paper while lying on a sofa bleeding heavily and feeling a bit sad cuz although I did not plan to fall pregnant and it would only have led to more delays in my getting back into my career, I kinda would have been happy to have another couple of babies. It took me quite a while to get physically fit again, even longer cuz I was running about keeping the house and home clean and cooking meals, making sure the little Piglet remained healthy and happy, and teaching many courses so as to pay for the food.</li>
<li><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmpku5WdZqsRGdZu-zjmSk4QJo0rTXa2fLIuXT1oJ4TnxjQorPB7yjeWHw2Q7YjLVAyO8noTeHpvFZMFFYP9CFeMWeUDdO1mxb9egIGZZrIOTeAzNmptFPu3TBN7LWlSOoy3d1iN1Ro8/s1600/DSC_1531.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmpku5WdZqsRGdZu-zjmSk4QJo0rTXa2fLIuXT1oJ4TnxjQorPB7yjeWHw2Q7YjLVAyO8noTeHpvFZMFFYP9CFeMWeUDdO1mxb9egIGZZrIOTeAzNmptFPu3TBN7LWlSOoy3d1iN1Ro8/s200/DSC_1531.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Those are my snoozing legs<br />
the kitten is snoozing on, LOL.) </td></tr>
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My sleep was continuously interrupted for five years and I am still frequently woken up in the night by someone small claiming that they had a bad dream. Three times in the same night. I think it is only this week that I have actually started to feel like I had some rest and have got a bit of energy cuz I have taken to putting <i>The Hobbit</i> on and dozing in an armchair while Piglet is at football or violin lessons. (Mmmm, Thorin Oakenshield <img alt=":devil:" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" /> zzzzzz.) </li>
<li>As you know, dahlinks, I had no help worthy of the name around the house. I have cooked between two and five meals every day for years. (I mean cooked, not put some bits of bread and cold meat together.) Every day I have picked things up and put them away, I have slowly trained Piglet into picking things up and putting them away, to the tune of an underlying manly chorus going: "This house is a tip, this house is a tip. I work so hard, this house is a tip." (Yesterday I picked up half a mouse, euurggggh. Today I picked up a poo; not out of the litter tray, ickickick.) </li>
<li>I spent huge amounts of time and energy sorting out my parents and the Outlaws when they got themselves into fine messes, making sure that their house got sold (my parents), they took on a package of appropriate carers and cleaners (Outlaws) and did not end up in court on a manslaughter charge for driving while on hallucinatory medication (Outlaw Dad). </li>
<li>In return ... well, Outlaw Mom did quite a lot for me, and my brother recently came up with an unexpected helping hand but that has been pretty much it for the last decade in return for the three thousand four hundred and ninety-six cups of tea I have made (and phone calls to everyone from mortgage brokers to out of hours doctors). </li>
</ul>
Just to give you a flavour, this was one time I went over to help my parents. You think the MILF is a pretty busy lady now, well a day in my life back then will make the hairs on your head stand on end.<br />
<br />
The Baron and I drove over with a teeny tiny toddling Piglet to pick up my Dad from the hospital where he had had a triple bypass operation. He was pretty grumpy the whole time but we said, "Pore ole thing, a triple bypass is a serious procedure, you must be v. uncomfortable, we will cook some nice food for you." The next day, I saw I was losing blood. I knew I was pregnant, I had had a previous miscarriage and so I tried to phone health helplines but they said, <i>No, we cannot help you cuz you are in England, and we are a Welsh helpline, and the English helpline will say go to the doctor but you are nowhere near your doctor so dunno what you should do</i>. So I said to my Dad, "Sorry, ole thing, we are going to have to go back to Wales cuz I was pregnant but now it looks like there is a problem." "Oh dear," he said. "But could you just make me a beef sandwich before you go, and can you make sure that the beef is just so and that there is horseradish sauce on it? And you will sort this other thing out for me, won't you?" Well, I spent an hour on my feet, continuing to lose blood, making the sandwich just so and sorting out my Dad's tablets into a special pill box I had bought him, before I got in the car to drive all the way back to a house empty of food with a teeny tiny toddling Piglet in tow.<br />
<br />
Now, the Baron is not exactly a domestic Angel but even he was a bit shocked at this carry-on, and frankly, although I do my best to go, <i>La la la, he is hilarious!</i> about my eccentric Dad, by his side the Baron looks like a hero of the Enlightenment wearing underpants over his trousers and bringing Truth Justice and the American way to people benighted beneath the rule of the despotic dictator Emperor Ming. <br />
<br />
There we are. I am sure you can imagine me coming home to the house empty of food, bleeding and needing to get on the phone to health authorities who would hopefully talk to me as I was in the right country at last, but instead sitting down to write some interesting analysis of race politics in the postcolonial nation state. <br />
<br />
About a year ago, I did start doing the naughty lady writing. So-o-o, I was thinking, If I can do some saucy naughty sexy writing, surely I can do the academic writing, I am clearly just my own worst enemy here, why don't I just do a paper.<br />
<br />
Well, today, when I have managed to get back and read one article (and I prolly need to read about 40 before I can sit down and write my article, and perhaps a couple of books), I realise that this is just not the case. You can do a li'l sexy quickie, tossing off a FAWC story by getting up three or four mornings at six a.m. and cramming in half an hour of scribbling before you have to do the sausages for breakfast, make packed lunches and wake Piglet up to cram her into her neatly ironed school uniform. You cannot give a considered read to an article about the interplay of gender power relations and situational dynamics in research interviews ... oh, gosh, is that the time! better quickly put the sausages on, let me just read that final paragraph while I push them round the pan, oh I need to make a note, oh the sausages are burnt.<br />
<br />
This academic year, Piglet suddenly hit an age when she could go to a number of after school activities, giving me a much longer day several times in the week. I could manage the running around the house in a fetching apron and still have a little time to myself. I also dumped a lot of stuff I used to do for the Baron, cuz I said: "Sorry, Piglet has to be fed in between school and synchronised swimming/cub scouts/straight after karate. You must get your own tea on Mondays/Wednesdays/ Thursdays."<br />
<br />
There we are, dahlinks. I am going to write some academic papers. Everyone says if I am to get a proper job, that will be the way to do it but my main reason is, I have had these things running about my head like plot bunnies for years. If you think it's difficult having a sexy story about an alien housewife and some unusual body parts going round your head, just try ten years of mulling over a Foucauldian analysis of kinship and family in Muslim communities.<br />
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Post Scriptum: the very day I drafted this blurt, I started to feel poorly again. At first I was like, <i>Oh it's stress and this is v. annoying, I have only just started reading some academic papers and now this</i>. I cannot rely on the Baron so I got up early, made Piglet's packed lunch, did breakfast then did some cleaning so I could do something else. Then I realised that it is not just stress which is making me feel tired and washed out, I have acksherly lost a lot of blood this last month (do not ask how if you are not sure you want to know the answer! LOL, it is all Womanly Stuff, TMI, TMI) so no wonder I feel anaemic, I prolly am.<br />
<br />
And I do feel very cross that I haven't got the energy to read FAWC stories today (hopefully over the weekend) and certainly not the powers of concentration required for an article by some bloke about a methodological question, but he has Got It All Wrong, I could write my article like this ... except that I feel too tired for some mysterious reason. <br />
<br />
Yah, yah, I am going to the doctor! the proper one, not one like me who will just look at your leg with pleasure not an expert eye. I do not just tell cubs and kittens to do this, I sort it out myself too, LOL. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-8103440250493903862013-10-29T14:39:00.001-07:002013-11-12T06:31:10.082-08:00Game for Anything<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://littlesliceoflife.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/pheasant3.jpg?w=600" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://littlesliceoflife.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/pheasant3.jpg?w=600" width="110" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A brace of pheasants </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">from <a href="http://littlesliceoflife.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/blood-guts-and-testing-my-mettle/" target="_blank">A Slice of Life blog</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of the reasons I love <a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/season-of-mists.html" target="_blank">autumn</a> is that game appears in the butchers' shops. I mean, I love <i>all </i>my butchers but I do have a special soft spot for the pheasant pluckers (wink). </span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I adore game. Game is properly treated: well hung (<snerk>) - for several weeks so the flavour develops. Nowadays people understand that top class beef should be 'matured' for six weeks, not bought all bloody and aerated in a plastic wrap. People who eat game have always assumed their meat will be strongly flavoured. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I love that game is seasonal, it's special. </span>I love the whiff of the visceral and adrenal that you get off game. You know it was hunted or shot and life seems more vivid because you had that closer brush against death than you get from something distantly killed in the abattoir. You have a brief vision of nature, being out on the moor or in the woods and fields, perhaps in a mist. I love that physicality, the engagement of the senses in a fuller way, which shopping for and cooking game gives you. It's not like pork or beef or chicken, which you can assume they will have year round in the shops. They have to have a special license to sell game and you have to go and see - what have they managed to get in? Oh dahlinks, any chance one day you could get me a hare? </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rPq2raInh8jjqvjPt4rcNo1igq_PjDebWEqsa-Bhn2ms2KKk6vKpVoiCunVEeBxdrGhWCvhJUKrT1TXKUQJol-Ja0NWQ-QYTxGlyNfSomSAcRLZGjT-TVF6qAypg0IX0Tb3HuYZFOWk/s320/%25D0%25BF%25D0%25B5%25D1%2580%25D1%258C%25D1%258F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rPq2raInh8jjqvjPt4rcNo1igq_PjDebWEqsa-Bhn2ms2KKk6vKpVoiCunVEeBxdrGhWCvhJUKrT1TXKUQJol-Ja0NWQ-QYTxGlyNfSomSAcRLZGjT-TVF6qAypg0IX0Tb3HuYZFOWk/s200/%25D0%25BF%25D0%25B5%25D1%2580%25D1%258C%25D1%258F.jpeg" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://scriptures-light.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/blog-post.html" target="_blank">scriptureslight</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One time I asked whether some unlabelled rabbits in one of my butcher's shops were from France, as the previous rabbits for sale there had been. The butcher hesitated, then laughed and said: "No, my son-in-law shot them this morning." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You have to know your meat to buy game; amateur meat eaters do not go and buy rabbits or grouse or a brace of quail. They get anxious when they bite into their pheasant and find lead shot. Game can be very cheap, though. There is a kind of upper class/poacher crossover to game which is a pleasurable set of extremes to revel in while you cook. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I managed to get venison steaks the other day for the cub scouts. Venison is excellent meat: barely any fat in it. One of my butchers does delish venison burgers too. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/341/d/0/pheasant_feathers_06_by_88_lawstock-d34e7bf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/341/d/0/pheasant_feathers_06_by_88_lawstock-d34e7bf.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://88-lawstock.deviantart.com/art/Pheasant-Feathers-06-188779659" target="_blank">deviantart</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glorious_Twelfth" target="_blank">glorious twelfth</a> on, I start hanging wistfully round my butchers' shops, asking plaintively if the game birds are not in yet. Pheasant is my favourite; it's both unusual and unusually cheap; it looks like you have made a special effort when you roast a pheasant for friends yet it costs a lot less than a good chicken. (No, I do not feed my family <a href="http://www.worldpoultry.net/Broilers/Markets--Trade/2012/7/Study-claims-free-range-chicken-is-healthier-WP010688W/" target="_blank">poor little battery farmed chickens</a>! in fact Piglet and the Baron are so spoilt that the last time I bought a cheap chicken and roasted it they refused to eat it, saying it tasted narsty.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pheasant feathers are beautiful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Finally the pheasants have arrived in the butchers' shops. However as this is the first time I've seen game this season, and they had some in, I went for a couple of partridges. I hurried home with them, consulted my trusty Elizabeth David <a href="http://www.hive.co.uk/book/french-country-cooking/10686066/" target="_blank"><i>French Country Cooking</i></a> and chose the classic <i>perdrix aux choux</i>.(I have had great previous success with the <i>partridge en papillotes </i>btw.) </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSJFvpjf5sr-n6w_RQ4YhSqbUaWxTvZWH2l-4i9Dsj1CbAHhRtKFRMwGDG4AYWU6Lser8zNcM0AeVqMEwRlwirA9IncSePbxE13SptcCNHGxkvkBI2KkY5NO-g-vK6hUHs83nNEL0SPs/s1600/DSC_1449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSJFvpjf5sr-n6w_RQ4YhSqbUaWxTvZWH2l-4i9Dsj1CbAHhRtKFRMwGDG4AYWU6Lser8zNcM0AeVqMEwRlwirA9IncSePbxE13SptcCNHGxkvkBI2KkY5NO-g-vK6hUHs83nNEL0SPs/s200/DSC_1449.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There we are, lovely pair of partridges. One slightly larger than the other, as often happens when you have a pair of plump pale ... things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I made a number of adjustments to the classic recipe, partly in a spirit of adventure and partly out of necessity. It's a <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174401" target="_blank">Wild West Wind</a>y day here in Stepford. There is a storm passing through with gale force winds and gusts of rain, so I am feeling adventurous. I even hung some washing out! Some of it actually did get dry owing to the gustiness of the wind and my running out frantically every time it started raining to fetch it all in. When you are hanging the white sheets in a high wind with the sunshine glancing brightly through dark clouds and the rotary drier whizzing round so that you hope it doesn't catch you on the head, you feel all sort of Pirates of the Caribbeanish and like Cutler Becket might suddenly pop up and lend you a hand holding the peg bag or something </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" title="devil" />. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogXKDYph9ClXhT2I3RU8U7xQu1v1Zb90oeWF8VWZLcaqn7tZQTKja79BzaV_6J4GJlpYbzHHCQjT4RteOIP3lKhyHq6yk251GtzNXYNs9xV4R5-LyMavMP8CDXXNJXeFDY4-rPvrtZcs/s1600/DSC_1451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogXKDYph9ClXhT2I3RU8U7xQu1v1Zb90oeWF8VWZLcaqn7tZQTKja79BzaV_6J4GJlpYbzHHCQjT4RteOIP3lKhyHq6yk251GtzNXYNs9xV4R5-LyMavMP8CDXXNJXeFDY4-rPvrtZcs/s200/DSC_1451.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So my first adventurous alteration was to use red cabbage in the
recipe. This was particularly adventurous because for some reason, my
stewed red cabbage has never been as tasty as I would expect it to be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMW9PwuPOSFBx1HqRkpEPOPX4z8b5-shn6wJRomXHdn_bTNeJ2dKWvrpSFQ6373P0GO4TqoVh9RE9k5OEr6OhFZuC7yGwld44Cxh7Rp_bHLg5fufXenIfWeMm8eq2c7PuVIliAF2e4Z0/s1600/DSC_1454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMW9PwuPOSFBx1HqRkpEPOPX4z8b5-shn6wJRomXHdn_bTNeJ2dKWvrpSFQ6373P0GO4TqoVh9RE9k5OEr6OhFZuC7yGwld44Cxh7Rp_bHLg5fufXenIfWeMm8eq2c7PuVIliAF2e4Z0/s200/DSC_1454.jpg" width="150" /></a>I chopped it up while browning the partridges in my omelette pan. Prolly I should not use the omelette pan for browning things, so next time I might use another little pan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I also used a cooking apple (Bramley) as a family friend had dropped by for a cup of tea and chat the other day, and had brought a bagful of apples and a couple of quinces from his garden. Quinces are so cool, aren't they! You think they are a made-up thing from Lear's <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171941" target="_blank"><i>The Owl and the Pussy Cat</i></a>. In fact quinces have beautiful unusual flowers and are a <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/nov/29/nigel-slater-recipes-quince" target="_blank">versatile cooking ingredient</a>. In Spain they make lovely quince stuff for eating with cheese. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitYNo0SrZ0stdiwbDn9i49i6G_vE_BStHzRaQLEH6l_WjE6NUzeTsN0lzUMqQd4hfpxYSCoY953SNktpQFBlIFIBANGDXwzMc5hXq7BMSFMwwLZwZd3qmFpByIpKDbeI2ZUylogSoyyI/s1600/DSC_1455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitYNo0SrZ0stdiwbDn9i49i6G_vE_BStHzRaQLEH6l_WjE6NUzeTsN0lzUMqQd4hfpxYSCoY953SNktpQFBlIFIBANGDXwzMc5hXq7BMSFMwwLZwZd3qmFpByIpKDbeI2ZUylogSoyyI/s200/DSC_1455.jpg" width="200" /></a>I layered up the cabbage, etc, as instructed and popped the partridges in. Now came a necessitous alteration as although the recipe specifies an earthernware dish for the perdrix aux choux, I didn't have one big enough.This is one Outlaw Mum gave me a while back, you can see it isn't going to do it. Size matters - but only in casseroles, y'know (wink). </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7W7JEfC-wajSQPmz17X70Fuf4uYXAWObbDmRSvi8bOB6_n5ETF-A6e6DXXWuA46lmXpxWy4X9zqEf8ad42MBzHqGj-8p4wPjReRl9qWWN0812OyHvSmIuKDaSafjUhks_PfzHLIC7Og/s1600/DSC_1456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7W7JEfC-wajSQPmz17X70Fuf4uYXAWObbDmRSvi8bOB6_n5ETF-A6e6DXXWuA46lmXpxWy4X9zqEf8ad42MBzHqGj-8p4wPjReRl9qWWN0812OyHvSmIuKDaSafjUhks_PfzHLIC7Og/s200/DSC_1456.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I fetched out a larger (heart-shaped) casserole dish. Being metal, anything cooked in it was going to cook quicker but in any case I needed to get the thing going as most unusually I had slept in. Also the partridges were not the stewing kind specified but sweet little roasting birds. They didn't need to be laid lo-ong and slo-o-ow in warm juices. I was looking for more of a quickie (wink). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here is the final thing, tucked up in a layer of cabbage. You can just see a carrot peeping out - like a someone's hand when it's very cold and they have snugged completely down in the covers with only their hand sticking out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I kept checking and indeed, the dish was done a lot sooner than the four to five hours which Elizabeth D. recommends. I popped it onto the grill bit of the oven while I cooked roast potatoes at high heat - I suspect it carried on cooking there rather than just keeping warm; next time I will plan properly for less cooking time. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oHBw5m4vFH-ZVJOYXbjHc9oq6pVttHix4Whd6H6dsTzQCvE_ER4B8p21AsT1zBwXyxoNCUJZdlsFdaYWgyINlMX9CdI3lML9667Yrg0e4QbrDS1JzHtxunKmtgIGUEU_w5tz0AVAWWk/s1600/DSC_1460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oHBw5m4vFH-ZVJOYXbjHc9oq6pVttHix4Whd6H6dsTzQCvE_ER4B8p21AsT1zBwXyxoNCUJZdlsFdaYWgyINlMX9CdI3lML9667Yrg0e4QbrDS1JzHtxunKmtgIGUEU_w5tz0AVAWWk/s200/DSC_1460.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here is my final plateful. (I had to take this pic in a rush, LOL, as the family were coming thundering in for their lunch. You can see a corner of my apron by the plate.) I carved everyone a plump breast and a leg, and I served it with a bit of the bacon from the dish (which was in itself v. tasty), the cabbage, roast potatoes and parsnip and some brussel sprouts fried up with chestnuts (chestnuts are also now in the shops). We were able to have some of my friend's quince jelly with the partridge - it was most toothsome, dahlinks!<i> </i>We ate it with a runcible spoon of course, LOL. The red cabbage turned out flavoursome, which was an unexpected treat. Perhaps it was the heart-shaped casserole dish. </span><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/heart.gif" title="heart" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> It only goes to show. If at first things are not all sweet and juicy and tasty, you should put your heart into it - or put it into a heart you have lying around.(Acksherly, I do like stuffed heart ... ) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I like game because it reminds me of literary accounts I've enjoyed of huntin', shootin' and fishin'. John Buchan's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Macnab" target="_blank"><i>John McNab</i></a> with the jolly chases across the Highlands - and the dodgy class politics; that dawn goose shoot in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Island_of_Sheep" target="_blank"><i>The Island of Sheep</i></a>. The tired muddy rides home Siegfried Sassoon talks about in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memoirs_of_a_Fox-Hunting_Man" target="_blank"><i>Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man</i></a>. And that duck shoot in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Alexandria_Quartet" target="_blank"><i>The Alexandria Quartet</i></a> which is like a microcosmic core to the depiction Lawrence Durrell manages to paint of love and postcolonialism - detailed and precise as a Mughal miniature. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.touregypt.net/images/touregypt/hunting4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://www.touregypt.net/images/touregypt/hunting4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.touregypt.net/featurestories/hunting.htm" target="_blank">TourEgypt</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-30056142931134480342013-10-28T07:56:00.000-07:002013-10-28T07:56:39.245-07:00Yo ho ho and a sail around Ebay<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/56423000/jpg/_56423112_111031145244_sp_galeria_calaveras_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/56423000/jpg/_56423112_111031145244_sp_galeria_calaveras_01.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From BBC's <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-15549755" target="_blank">webpage</a> on </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">the Day of the Dead</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ooh, it is very exciting! I have sold something on Ebay. Normally I have something I think would be good to sell and the time of year is coming up when it would sell well and then there is a school trip and I have to think of a special packed lunch for it, someone comes round for tea and there is something which needs a screw. (I said some THING! not some builder <img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" title="Roll Eyes (Sarcastic)" />.) Then before I know it, the time has passed and I have not sold my thing on Ebay. But this time I have managed to get Piglet's pristine and barely used Halloween costume from last year sold at a good price, well in time to post off for the Day of the Dead. (No, I am really not into that sort of thing but if you ask nicely I will look around for a story to review on my other blog.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And now it's time for the pirate Lego <img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" title="devil" />.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Every Christmas the Baron used to buy an exceptionally expensive Lego set for Piglet. He would spend three days lovingly building it. Sometimes she was allowed to stand by him and pass him the pieces.I know you will be amazed to hear that Piglet had little enthusiasm for the two pirate ships (Black Pearl and Queen Anne's Revenge) and complete set of Hogwarts buildings which were built for her amusement. They languished on a shelf in her bedroom, occasionally pillaged (ho ho) for spare parts.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://cache.lego.com/r/friends/-/media/franchises/friends/products/large%20640x340/3184.png?l.r=-1640681638" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://cache.lego.com/r/friends/-/media/franchises/friends/products/large%20640x340/3184.png?l.r=-1640681638" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the <a href="http://friends.lego.com/en-gb/products/3184-adventure-camper" target="_blank">Lego Friends website</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then Lego brought out the Friends range. I totally recommend this to anyone with a girl child. It is fun and funky and has hardly any ballet dancing sort of sets, mostly being tree houses and stuff. Barons are not interested in it as it is full of pink bricks. Piglets can get on with it by themselves. (Occasionally I sit with Piglet and pass her the pieces for the sets she buys with her pocket money.)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_L-zC5a8Yh357uB5oEel1ki92QmItB8CYzZK8FZMuEV6SE4iv6XCgLi22gdnXZtjP84iTULRh_ugRY4ad1rMlTJ8241UPLW_zDZiRBwEGhe_-IQWSaDbQywi0431TJUDD88K5XdVMuA/s1600/DSC_1418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_L-zC5a8Yh357uB5oEel1ki92QmItB8CYzZK8FZMuEV6SE4iv6XCgLi22gdnXZtjP84iTULRh_ugRY4ad1rMlTJ8241UPLW_zDZiRBwEGhe_-IQWSaDbQywi0431TJUDD88K5XdVMuA/s200/DSC_1418.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hands off, you scurvy dogs, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">those dragees are mine!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Meanwhile I have got a rearguard action on the go, rebuilding the Black Pearl. Maybe it's anal retentive but I want to put the whole thing together so I can be sure all the little bits are there. These sets are no longer in production so you can get quite a bit of money for them on Ebay. Mostly, though, I just hate the idea that this great fun construction set was built once and then scrapped. There is a lot of entertainment to be had out of used toys, y'know (wink).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiel92AapKz7C3Jzv_YmZXCFBQXcEpmnRop1j9qrHWsyBAsRAMWTO2ArE5XZMYsZO_7UZ7WalH9JVUVNp7lKcdqcpVVlK71x4uVSUV0tWP_GK3JDpJHA79JvTRCeZtp2nd9kDlYpL13r0/s1600/DSC_1474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiel92AapKz7C3Jzv_YmZXCFBQXcEpmnRop1j9qrHWsyBAsRAMWTO2ArE5XZMYsZO_7UZ7WalH9JVUVNp7lKcdqcpVVlK71x4uVSUV0tWP_GK3JDpJHA79JvTRCeZtp2nd9kDlYpL13r0/s200/DSC_1474.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm currently stranded because I need three 1x1 black bricks. You would think these were so common that they dropped their 'h's when they spoke! but I can't find them anywhere. I'm moving on to the staircases while I wait hopefully for the 1x1 bricks to turn up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Nobody need say anything about whether or not I am anal . You can read my story about <a href="http://www.literotica.com/s/as-pleases-my-general" target="_blank">the General </a>if you like that sort of thing <img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" title="devil" /><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" title="devil" /><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/devil.gif" title="devil" />.) </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-61130397952550602052013-10-18T13:49:00.000-07:002013-10-18T13:49:34.006-07:00Day in the Life of the MILF (and her Pussies)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakLhXn2WflYw_zzyRkpV8C2fwuafxEI_M6Ght8-XiYHQ0WTTrVGCC31WZheBO_fpZqf4ENHH-NNyF0I5kuuCRbK9X-n8iSSQTz4KVAAyFPARQeAjsCFa3zmBtaQcBAwHGkD0jauqus08/s1600/DSC_1377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakLhXn2WflYw_zzyRkpV8C2fwuafxEI_M6Ght8-XiYHQ0WTTrVGCC31WZheBO_fpZqf4ENHH-NNyF0I5kuuCRbK9X-n8iSSQTz4KVAAyFPARQeAjsCFa3zmBtaQcBAwHGkD0jauqus08/s200/DSC_1377.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(I am illustrating this blogpost with pix of the kitty cats to show you how they are getting on.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gah, well, I thought this week I would finally get back to normal. I had like a cold, which I was like 'oh it's just a cold' but it turned into that sort of cold certain people (naming no particular gender) call flu. Also, I had kinda upsetting news when I finally took <a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/eyetests-for-early-years-piglets.html" target="_blank">Piglet for an eyetest</a>, so I was a bit sad. 'N then my brother popped up and emailed me some extraordinarily good news 'n that totally threw me cuz TBH, I am not accustomed to massive slices of fantastic good luck falling out of the sky on my head like cherry pie with custard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But the world does not stop eating or needing its knickers washed, does it. Plus Piglet suddenly revealed that all the intellectual type gurrlzzzz what I have been trying to persuade her to be friends with eat sandwiches, not school dinner. She has always wanted to eat sandwiches; I have resisted cuz it is a lot of work and jolly expensive if you do it properly, but at this I cracked and agreed to make a packed lunch every day this week. My mornings have been a bit like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wake up full of cold and get up to find cats patiently waiting outside the bedroom door. They are very good and never start miewing and shouting for their breakfast. Here they are waiting for kitten milk. I am not sure you can see it in the pic, cuz she does not photograph well for some reason, Lakhi has really grown. When she came you will remember she was a dainty little catwalk model type. Well she is a effing lithe muscular jungle cat these days! It is an effort to pick her up, she is so heavy with muscle and her fur sort of shines; she is a magnificent beast.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Make breakfast and packed lunch. Consider cycling to school then realise that this will leave me feeling dizzy and grumpy with cold so I put Piglet and the Baron in the car to their delight (this is a v. rare occurrence, sweet things, I normally make them walk come hail or sleet or weather of the kind that caused Winnie-the-Pooh to write his song about how cold his nose and toes were growing). Piglet has been given a form for a football festival saying: <i>Can you sign to agree that your child can referee</i>. Since she has been playing football for approximately three weeks, I feel there must be some mistake and I intend to go in and make sure she really is part of the football festival before I let her off karate.I dress accordingly: boots, camelhair skirt and the aran cardigan. I know this has hit the spot when the footballing teacher stands up to stutter, I mean talk to me. I explain that Piglet's eye condition means she is unlikely to be good at sports but she is v. keen in a tone that means business and the footballing teacher says: "Yes, sport is all about taking part; if you show commitment you are allowed to play in the festival." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I go home to phone the vet (cuz Lakhi is poorly), hang out three laundry loads, and apply the hairdryer to Piglet's track trousers which she has only just revealed she needs that morning for cross country running. It is the head cold going to my chest that is making me breathless; you need not think anything of it that I am panting as I hang out the laundry. If I am really in luck the cold will go to my chest, I will get a deep throat voice (wink) and telephone sales assistants will be saying: "Can you say it to me one more time: <i>fuck off I am fed up of taking calls asking if I was ever so thick as to buy Payment Protection Insurance</i> and can you say <i>effing wanker </i>and <i>fuck off </i>twice." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I iron the track trousers in a final bid to get them dry, put cat and track trousers in the car, take the latter to the school and the former to the vet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our handsome vet is a bit of a sadist, so he says hopefully that although Lakhi does have a temperature and probably a small infection, she may also have some long-term dietary problem which will go on and on requiring expensive treatment forever. He suggests I move her onto some expensive dried cat food which the veterinary practice can sell me. I demur and say I will see how she goes on the expensive antibiotics he has just given Lakhi, then if she is still poorly next week consider the expensive dried food. I see the gleam in his eye that was a second skiing holiday die down and he says, Yah, good idea. He adds that she looks very well, which is pleasing cuz I also think she is looking good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here are Lakhi and the kitten doing some combat training. (You realise that this is like the fifth time the kitten has done this so Lakhi is not really surprised when she comes leaping out.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy99_lSw3-pIJjHGIq13SahOSIi6rbT-QwrDdnwH9cKTgagp8mkG5nQMRsqBDoyEGO8VpdbgWSJzYNsPggJOQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And here is the revenge of the shopping bag.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyeCfaXdM126qgXQp2udjbrclQFMRRXtWL01FDQ1S0NJlBkb3PD1wt3215QckcMblsrwb0lqdYnjPZCW11G-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After this vitally important work shooting the cats' Oscar winning performances, I finally managed to do something on some applications for more teaching. And after that, what with the cold and the running around and the applications, I did feel tired so I had a snoozle. Attached below are pix of the kitten snoozling on the MILF lap while I was watching Lord of the Rings for the <i>n</i>th time through my eyelids.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After the snoozling I went to the football festival. Yah, that was going to be good for my cold standing in a muddy field shouting! I wanted Piglet to know we believe in her foot skills with the round ball. It was acksherly a nice sunny afternoon and Piglet scored a goal! Yah, yah, I saw it all from my bench a long way away where I was knitting a sock and gossiping with other MILFs (LOL). I pulled my shirt over my head and ran around shouting gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaalllllllll! LOL, dream on. When we decided to stroll up to the pitch and I found out it was Piglet who had kicked the goal about which we had heard them cheering, I made suitable amounts of noise and thumbs up signs at Piglet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I collected Phoenix Egg from karate and we all went home to do spelling, reading and have chicken for tea. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here are the kitten snoozing on MILF lap pix. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(It has come to my attention that some people have trouble getting to sleep. I have to say that I am so shattered at the end of the day that I could happily lean on my sink full of the last lot of washing up and doze off, however I will post my thoughts on <i>Ways to Get Dr. Sandperson to Gather You Up in Her Bosom and Carry You Off to the Land of Nod</i>.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Oh yes, the tummy, the tummy, the tummy! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHoyUvNAz-sKRjsJ3L57HcyR4z3SaQv7ffiMCMAkz_TAzfoyBWNigfo5h3eHAk3hH31Rzdzgwz4b9IhYhiogPgU2T81RPyM4FcR-JDPauSeHLKTmfUIHOg-1uu1V5YIeP3Jax4l8Hexw/s1600/DSC_1385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHoyUvNAz-sKRjsJ3L57HcyR4z3SaQv7ffiMCMAkz_TAzfoyBWNigfo5h3eHAk3hH31Rzdzgwz4b9IhYhiogPgU2T81RPyM4FcR-JDPauSeHLKTmfUIHOg-1uu1V5YIeP3Jax4l8Hexw/s200/DSC_1385.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0avNbGnPy5MDliNpBWHCWlKgDi8e88k4v8w6OwzifOokrjhY0OkMwO4WnUHvFj0AlQIn3hoTU-Sec8rqsHA60Scg3qAEK4EfkSPnMXCill0PBrR1xkcSF3wfWycg1RHNox7bb6Th9IE8/s1600/DSC_1387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0avNbGnPy5MDliNpBWHCWlKgDi8e88k4v8w6OwzifOokrjhY0OkMwO4WnUHvFj0AlQIn3hoTU-Sec8rqsHA60Scg3qAEK4EfkSPnMXCill0PBrR1xkcSF3wfWycg1RHNox7bb6Th9IE8/s200/DSC_1387.jpg" width="150" /></a>Come on! the tummy! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFknvPlrujUdDlFgqZljMaRouVv0sdfR7qTWrTiVCaxOi0sQOAX7Ne6sbuRo7MotvU_LcHK5ijgbr-hOaCEjimywcjHBYFioJpLxtYtdrTwc_mw5aBUTfDNuMVLj8Ej3LUvMP-caAipr8/s1600/DSC_1391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFknvPlrujUdDlFgqZljMaRouVv0sdfR7qTWrTiVCaxOi0sQOAX7Ne6sbuRo7MotvU_LcHK5ijgbr-hOaCEjimywcjHBYFioJpLxtYtdrTwc_mw5aBUTfDNuMVLj8Ej3LUvMP-caAipr8/s200/DSC_1391.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Ecsta-a-asy! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxvou4YTHSaMj2F5HASzGJ6r0Eef6ofzpN8-2PEo2oMkAr2lv3YHZtCIC-zWulvNKxr6Lr_mN_h0db6TOt5-1UDnD9Bn0psgZpZ3bMG-Qg3vKftWp9WVY3x0N1chyphenhyphenQj-lgzkrRWYcgS8/s1600/DSC_1393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxvou4YTHSaMj2F5HASzGJ6r0Eef6ofzpN8-2PEo2oMkAr2lv3YHZtCIC-zWulvNKxr6Lr_mN_h0db6TOt5-1UDnD9Bn0psgZpZ3bMG-Qg3vKftWp9WVY3x0N1chyphenhyphenQj-lgzkrRWYcgS8/s200/DSC_1393.jpg" width="150" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Zzzzzzz </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-28280521660608317072013-10-14T06:10:00.003-07:002013-10-14T06:10:50.824-07:00Nuts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfuKL87oO4Z2TQJXJc7osECxopEuOhSvJDVzUgyk-Q8mdcMTJ1LyDNSw3Na6dHDmLpL-XUJ7KRM3VqOGAdZV-8z2Wrf1P1WtVp4HFonista35p8phUGn9WhYJSwpxK_n31fN6JvwdsMU/s1600/DSC_1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfuKL87oO4Z2TQJXJc7osECxopEuOhSvJDVzUgyk-Q8mdcMTJ1LyDNSw3Na6dHDmLpL-XUJ7KRM3VqOGAdZV-8z2Wrf1P1WtVp4HFonista35p8phUGn9WhYJSwpxK_n31fN6JvwdsMU/s200/DSC_1200.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There are two walnut trees by the library and I found this year’s
first walnut on the path there the other day. I love to go and pick them up,
they are not dry like the walnuts you get in shops but crunchy. And they’re
free! I ate the walnut with banana, figs and yoghurt and a drizzling of honey. </span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There will be lots of free food (*rubs l'il hands!*) – I’ve bought a <a href="http://www.hive.co.uk/book/food-for-free/5691746/" target="_blank">pocket-sized book on foraging</a> so I can feed us for nothing. I do like things that fit snugly in my pocket (wink). </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There seem to be fewer walnuts than usual this year. It could be that the squirrels are getting there first - although there aren't a scattering of empty shells to substantiate this theory. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZIsEqbK8bvIVTMo7PiDDuoxK40c-BUJh_vP_LlGyEYGdZL92H1qiTbdY0C5nrGmvNlvFtXbLfUnUcakRxHFXRX_E8em3R-nVUBxg9xFb7Ryuh7tTJ-J6tP7f0gIncn_SdhdO793EBVY/s1600/DSC_1231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZIsEqbK8bvIVTMo7PiDDuoxK40c-BUJh_vP_LlGyEYGdZL92H1qiTbdY0C5nrGmvNlvFtXbLfUnUcakRxHFXRX_E8em3R-nVUBxg9xFb7Ryuh7tTJ-J6tP7f0gIncn_SdhdO793EBVY/s200/DSC_1231.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It could be that the nuts are not as numerous. It's true that some of them seem very small. Here are two sweet little nuts for sucking on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-a7ox9xSXSgsc98jy4C9ba0RGuHgPrmK5kpJnI1Eo0V86d6JxRi5woNpWJr_v0GaOu6JiKebS3pbDZB9_BZ7e2PQczUWtASeZt1Oiw5ic4H5mohv0UHJCdA146bC5kX0tRGLRQ2YyrE/s1600/DSC_1225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-a7ox9xSXSgsc98jy4C9ba0RGuHgPrmK5kpJnI1Eo0V86d6JxRi5woNpWJr_v0GaOu6JiKebS3pbDZB9_BZ7e2PQczUWtASeZt1Oiw5ic4H5mohv0UHJCdA146bC5kX0tRGLRQ2YyrE/s200/DSC_1225.jpg" width="200" /></a>Or it could be that some other MILF has realised that there is a fab source of free foodstuffs on her doorstep and is nipping up there bright and early to clear the grass and the leafy verges. The beastly woman must be really keen as even when I go out in rainstorms - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hziG9Nr6KHU" target="_blank">raindrops falling on my head</a>, LOL, and my li'l nose snuffling and my whiskers twitching hopefully, this greedy animal pops out ahead of me and fills her apron pockets. I hate her, LOL. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.vam.ac.uk/users/sites/default/files/album_images/27412-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.vam.ac.uk/users/sites/default/files/album_images/27412-large.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the <a href="http://www.vam.ac.uk/users/node/7697" target="_blank">V&A</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(This post is part of my<a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/season-of-mists.html" target="_blank"> Autumn Collection </a>- mostly to be found on my clean blog <a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Anthropological Mum</a>.) </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-48609345391339584562013-10-09T22:34:00.001-07:002013-10-09T22:34:31.463-07:00Playful Pussies <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Dreadfully serious cuteness alert. Here be a video. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lakhi recently treated us to a plague of frogs in her efforts to train Eowyn into a Ninja killer kitten. (Faster, pussy-cat! Kill! Kill!) She brought them in from the neighbour's pond: little ones at first, then great big fat ones and once, when Piglet had a fellow synchronised swimming piglet round to tea, she made a special effort and brought a horrid stiff dead one in. (OK, OK, here is £10 for the poor traumatised child's therapy fund, there.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cats enjoy pouncing on each other and scramming each other with their claws. I'm glad we have a kitten now, as Lakhi used to do this to poor Piglet. Now we all realise that she was just driven by the natural maternal urge to teach Piglet how to defend herself. (The ungrateful Piglet prefers her karate lessons.) </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MDpSBh6f1DICRY9pK-v-y0aikoVT3eQBdYKQZq1yehoek77u1KD3V4tzUQS0Ql8S5AfTSaj1VrhVg5D2pMOn5EUKIRVH0DQcdmrVHuRb7ct2pN3W3IJ1QddUncYiRlZGkozeWRRKLms/s1600/DSC_1236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MDpSBh6f1DICRY9pK-v-y0aikoVT3eQBdYKQZq1yehoek77u1KD3V4tzUQS0Ql8S5AfTSaj1VrhVg5D2pMOn5EUKIRVH0DQcdmrVHuRb7ct2pN3W3IJ1QddUncYiRlZGkozeWRRKLms/s200/DSC_1236.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cats love to have their tummies tickled. You can pick them up and hold them snugged in one arm like a baby and stroke their tummies and they purr like anything. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The toy of theirs I would recommend most highly is the scratching post. This has probably saved all our armchairs and the sofa from being torn to shreds. Ours has a ball hanging off it on a string - hours of amusement can be got from suddenly giving a ball savage scratches with sharp claws! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They have a bouncy fluffy thing on an elastic string which we can dangle in front of their noses and suddenly whisk away. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEscYP9Q3HZ3uE96H-w95Tt663X064CGVpxxxpV-uh3GUtN5hurUaaxfKA1cjiO7rgxgWt2zpnhu-E5crThANYjKTPOoQhcNjVBaMVCx3BV-2JVAk21Bes8ByD7Hh6lk0N8Mw4_yfqdIY/s1600/DSC_1284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eowyn has a quick clean<br />
before venturing out. But ...<br />
who's that lurking in the<br />
horseradish leaves ....</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEscYP9Q3HZ3uE96H-w95Tt663X064CGVpxxxpV-uh3GUtN5hurUaaxfKA1cjiO7rgxgWt2zpnhu-E5crThANYjKTPOoQhcNjVBaMVCx3BV-2JVAk21Bes8ByD7Hh6lk0N8Mw4_yfqdIY/s1600/DSC_1284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEscYP9Q3HZ3uE96H-w95Tt663X064CGVpxxxpV-uh3GUtN5hurUaaxfKA1cjiO7rgxgWt2zpnhu-E5crThANYjKTPOoQhcNjVBaMVCx3BV-2JVAk21Bes8ByD7Hh6lk0N8Mw4_yfqdIY/s200/DSC_1284.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their top choice of kitten toy is a bag of catnip mice. These cost about £2.50 for four, and are sometimes so realistic that they can elicit a good scream when trodden on in the kitchen during that half-dark early-in-the-morning period. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1JQA1i60alLQjzpHvp_ROSZmm51aR0PC2WZfj3cL-TCNgUbd9wXXgMqRWA_bbo8CSHx8jlfxuX5iKOeTo6AUeQSM-QSvnDZD0yhcfj3NNWZv3NucgPm0Y0VAflWkH0JnvADSNdhGuKaI/s1600/DSC_1289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have started letting Eowyn go out in the garden if it's a nice day and I am around. She's very cautious and will rush back in the house if I make any movement to go back in myself, worried in case she gets locked out away from her litter tray with only a vast selection of flowerbeds to poo in </span><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Lakhi keeps a close eye on her whenever she is out. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There are cats in this pic somewhere.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eowyn found something-else to amuse her while Lakhi was out frog-hunting: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-K_AhSkPjKsIKOC3t9BMDO-xlsnUsicwYKiAemf5ZC3dC4x3Pk0TCcI0omc8g0D5qUnJiyMXDnA_TN0DPVzrN-yI8_-DVVSXB6PzUVk7JU724bXetY6wSVejmh2V0PkjDxWsU-ckep0/s1600/DSC_1306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-K_AhSkPjKsIKOC3t9BMDO-xlsnUsicwYKiAemf5ZC3dC4x3Pk0TCcI0omc8g0D5qUnJiyMXDnA_TN0DPVzrN-yI8_-DVVSXB6PzUVk7JU724bXetY6wSVejmh2V0PkjDxWsU-ckep0/s320/DSC_1306.jpg" width="205" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Such a domestic cat, LOL. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-64201640970400853842013-10-07T14:59:00.000-07:002013-10-07T14:59:20.126-07:00Die, evil apron strings, die! <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Warning, MILF sirens are go! Major cuteness alert, this post is full of kitty pix.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjDsmnSCD2gmqNFdqdCJBCeCH1n_fO1JGwM8KIN0T21D-CvzxXXNyFMiLlVkXy2cHLQkX0AQckXmmBU2JPZKji7WkTkWUCkCZbbrFGslWPxaJp6owIOHHDUgziR9Zwx6aqY0_aJfr1Zk/s1600/DSC_1272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjDsmnSCD2gmqNFdqdCJBCeCH1n_fO1JGwM8KIN0T21D-CvzxXXNyFMiLlVkXy2cHLQkX0AQckXmmBU2JPZKji7WkTkWUCkCZbbrFGslWPxaJp6owIOHHDUgziR9Zwx6aqY0_aJfr1Zk/s200/DSC_1272.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLFUrnLOTDDgzOkRbJod8m4O6eAmRENF5J0DojYatkF7ssVgLkX8Ug8OLNhv-wgILqZTzwRL9X5ojMJZemZmYFX-cLM6bOz2wr8nZERDG0ZicF5tZHTDeu8dtrxf0MDUimkgX9niEy9E/s1600/DSC_1275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLFUrnLOTDDgzOkRbJod8m4O6eAmRENF5J0DojYatkF7ssVgLkX8Ug8OLNhv-wgILqZTzwRL9X5ojMJZemZmYFX-cLM6bOz2wr8nZERDG0ZicF5tZHTDeu8dtrxf0MDUimkgX9niEy9E/s200/DSC_1275.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-18705017189182795292013-10-01T08:50:00.001-07:002013-10-01T22:59:14.417-07:00The Invisible Man<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nowthatslingerie.com/bradoctor/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/hello-boys-300x143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="95" src="http://www.nowthatslingerie.com/bradoctor/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/hello-boys-300x143.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.nowthatslingerie.com/bradoctor/blog/uncategorized/bra-ads-to-remember/2011/06/20" target="_blank">Nowthatslingerie</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"If representational visibility equals power," says <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/818363.Unmarked" target="_blank">Peggy Phelan</a>, "then almost-naked young white women should be running Western culture."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/static2.postcrossing.com/postcard/medium/a131888c1ee664a79f4a2b978cf2c7d5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/static2.postcrossing.com/postcard/medium/a131888c1ee664a79f4a2b978cf2c7d5.jpg" width="133" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span id="postcard_description" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Frog by Matsumoto Hoji -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.postcrossing.com/postcards/IL-22430" target="_blank">random postcard sending site</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay yah, this blogpost is about the invisible 'unmarked' nature of power. It provides part of the explanation as to why women; people from black and minority ethnic communities;the disabled; gay, lesbian and bisexual and many other kinds of people who are not quite '<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Man" target="_blank">the Man</a>', do not do as well as we ought to. We don't get into positions where we can work even though we have a <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/the-master-and-slave-milf-version.html" target="_blank">better understanding of power</a>. We end up noisily proclaiming how well we would manage power if we could get it in our hands - whenever we can lift our eyes up from scrubbing the floor. (Nietzsche calls this the 'frog's perspective' - that is another blogpost.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love Peggy Phelan's thinking. She writes about performance and power and the deeper performance we enact in order to be certain identities. Judith Butler calls this performativity, to try to show that it's not a volitional performance. We can't choose to 'do' femininity, Asian-ness, lesbianness. We are <a href="http://faculty.washington.edu/mlg/courses/definitions/Interpellation.html" target="_blank">'called' into being</a> these kinds of people, with or without power. We can't refuse. Think about the murder of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brandon_Teena" target="_blank">Brandon Teena</a>. That's how cruelly society can punish you just because you want to be a different gender to the one they think you ought to be. (I can't help wondering why people would get so agitated just because they think you ought to be feminine and you want to 'do' the masculine. Oh, well, again ... that's another story.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What Peggy Phelan points to in describing the way that the visibility of young women doesn't lead to power is that to have real power, you should not stand up and claim it. You should just be able to assume you've got it, and everyone around you assumes so too.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.hive.co.uk/9781593271893/96/0/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://static.hive.co.uk/9781593271893/96/0/image.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.hive.co.uk/book/the-manga-guide-to-statistics/9570470/" target="_blank">Hive</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rui takes up statistics</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to impress her dreamboat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">guy. But what of geeky</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bespectacled Mr Yamamoto</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">who can even teach</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">standard deviation ...?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's think about getting a job. Maybe you are a skilled teacher of social sciences. You have been running a module in exemplary fashion in a key area of social science for a year. A permanent job comes up and you suggest you be redeployed into this post. "But ... you can't teach statistics," management say in bewilderment. "Actually, I am already teaching statistics for another university I work for," you say proudly (also thinking about the last time they lambasted all the permanent staff saying a good social scientist should be able to turn their fist and teach any area of the the social sciences). Then they reject your application on the grounds that your research is not up to scratch.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hereticaljargon.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/not-wearing-costume.jpg?w=614" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://hereticaljargon.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/not-wearing-costume.jpg?w=614" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://hereticaljargon.com/2012/08/" target="_blank">hereticaljargon</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So you can see that the Man-agement has a real problem thinking of you as a serious manly kind of social scientist teacher. Are your skills invisible to them? No, your femininity is all too visible, clouding your invisible skills. How about if you kick off and have a tantrum on the office floor going: "You appointed me to my one year post as a researcher as well as teacher. It is impossible for me to have been good enough at research to teach a year ago and not be good enough now! Wah wah! I am going to get the Union in!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, dahlinks, you sure made yourself visible. The Man-agement are thinking, 'what a troublesome woman. She is way too much trouble. Anyway, I have already got my li'l student lined up for this job (hmmm? Oh well, as a matter of fact he is white, male, able-bodied, heterosexual ... but that is all irrelevant.He is the kind of serious person who focuses on social science not kicking off all over the place about things not being fair).' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are a certain kind of person - which happens to be the same kind of person as 95% of management, you are just assumed to be suitable for proper jobs. If you are not, then you have to jump up and down to prove your suitability but the very fact that you have to do that shows you are an unsuitable show-off loudmouth.The lady doth protest too much, methinks.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.spinoffonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/the-toxic-avenger1-210x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.spinoffonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/the-toxic-avenger1-210x300.jpg" width="140" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh ... cleaning up world </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">mess is best done by a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">man, too? But I have such a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lot of experience with a mop. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From</span><br />
<a href="http://spinoff.comicbookresources.com/2010/04/07/the-toxic-avenger-returns-to-mop-a-theater-near-you/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">spinoff.comicbookresources.</span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, the Man-agement tend to appoint people they just assume are right for the job - often for reasons which are not to do with qualifications and experience. If you make your qualifications and experience visible to them, you are trying too hard. Your qualifications and experience can't be that good if you are having to make such a song and dance about them. C'mon, stop making such a fuss. The Man-agement aren't going to feel confident about appointing you if you go on in such a hysterical fashion about your amazing amazingness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmmm, bit of a dilemma here ... (whoah, girl! you are wielding that mop a mite fiercely into the floor today). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ETA: <a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1040378&page=submissions" target="_blank">Tio_Narratore</a> tells me almost-naked women are making a bold attempt to run Western culture! Or at least prevent it making a complete arse of itself: <a href="http://ca.news.yahoo.com/topless-protest-causes-uproar-inside-quebec-legislature-185444409.html" target="_blank">article on topless protest inside Quebec legislature</a>. </span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-5105740516152456232013-09-30T01:50:00.000-07:002013-09-30T01:50:49.088-07:00Way of the MILF - Losing Weight Tip # 3<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Gertrude-and-Jessie-Punch-1895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Gertrude-and-Jessie-Punch-1895.jpg" width="202" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/?p=270" target="_blank">Sheila Hanlon's blog</a> on women's history. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>Gertrude</b>: My dear Jane, what on Earth </i><i>is that </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bicycle suit for? <b>Jane</b>: Why to wear, of course. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Gertrude</b>: But you haven't got a bicycle. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Jane</b>: No, but I've got a sewing machine.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So-o-o we are all ready to go in our new bras. We are focussing on happy thoughts instead of which flavour crisps to snork down last thing at night. My next tip is <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/the-mobile-milf.html" target="_blank"><i>Get On Your Bike</i></a>.</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the doctors (I mean proper doctors what have studied serious medical things, not li'l ole me who only knows how cute your buns are (wink) oh, and how to deconstruct your subject position in the heterosexual matrix <snerk>), er ... what was I saying ... when the doctors used to ask me if I took exercise, I would laugh a hollow laugh. "I am a mom," I would say, and they would go: "Oh yeah, LOL."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a) I had no time to be trotting off to the gym for buns and tums classes. b) I got my daily exercise racing the little piglets on the school run. Why this is what happened on Piglet's very first day at school. There she was, so cute in her tiny school uniform you would not believe it. I thought I would make a video of us walking to school together which I could weep over in years to come. I looked up from the camera and saw that the tiny school-uniform-clad Piglet was already halfway down the road she was so eager to get into the Grove of Academe! All I have got of her first day is a film of a tiny navy blue dot in the distance bouncing up and down cuz the camera is going up and down in my hand, with a voice-over going: "Wait! Wait for me!" </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01110/Neemia_Tialata_1110337c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="125" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01110/Neemia_Tialata_1110337c.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here you can see <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/rugbyunion/international/3407700/All-Blacks-brush-aside-limited-Scotland-at-Murrayfield-Rugby-Union.html" target="_blank">a brave noble Scot </a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/rugbyunion/international/3407700/All-Blacks-brush-aside-limited-Scotland-at-Murrayfield-Rugby-Union.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">being given the hand-off by a vicious </span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/rugbyunion/international/3407700/All-Blacks-brush-aside-limited-Scotland-at-Murrayfield-Rugby-Union.html" target="_blank">All Black</a>. (Yah of course Scotland</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lost that match :rolleyes: but we kept</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">them in double figures, it wasn't like</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a cricket score - there.) </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I always say, the best training I had for parenting was the rugby. I learned how to tuck a small rotund object under one arm and go for the try, how to do a vicious hand-off to hostile on-comers and how to safely bring down a speeding opponent by tackling round the knees. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, now that I have completely ruined my knee playing the game, LOL (yah, I would do it all again tomorrow! I loved that sport like no other), I need some other way to keep fit 'n healthy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People often decide to get fit again by going down the gym. They join up - sometimes at a special time of year when they might have been eating 'n drinking a bit more than normal (yah? sound familiar?) and the gyms are doing special deals to lure them in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They go very enthusiastically for a while 'n then one day they have a li'l cold in their nose, or something happens 'n they are late getting back from somewhere or something-else happens, anyway they do not make it in for a couple of days. Then a week later they are a bit tired that night, then before they know it, they are not going to the gym at all at all, in fact they feel horribly guilt-stricken as they realise they paid for the damn thing for three months without using it whatsoever so they eat a whole packet of chocolate biscuits to get over the guilt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sound familiar?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is running, too. Some people take up running. Running is v. hard on the knees, sweet thing, 'n one day when you have a li'l cold in your nose ... blah blah blah. And swimming means wet hair so even more cold-in-your-nose-blah-blah-blah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay there are two ways to make sure regular exercise remains regular, not an annual treat for the gym membership fund. One is to make it part of your social life. If you go with friendies, then you feel bad when you do not show up just cuz you are tired or had a cold in your li'l nose and are more likely to make the effort. This works best if you are playing a sport which they cannot play well without you like badminton.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.croquetworld.com/images/lee_med.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="154" src="http://www.croquetworld.com/images/lee_med.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.croquetworld.com/news/art2.asp" target="_blank">Croquetworld.com</a>. This was<br />not quite what the MILF used to<br />wear to play croquet; I am not that<br />old but nearly (wink). </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I like croquet myself. I did once play for my college but regrettably in our very first match we came up against one of my lovers from another college and that put me off 'n my croquet partner was grumpy about it. (Really, dahlinks, he just never forgave me cuz we agreed to go to a ball together and cruise guys, 'n I found one and he didn't. He should not have taken it to heart; it is like looking for snowballs in Hell to find a guy at a ball cuz unlike in <a href="http://movies.disney.com/cinderella" target="_blank">Cinderella</a>, everyone acksherly goes in pairs.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other way to make sure exercise is regular in your life, is build it into your normal daily routine. It should be part of your life, rather than being something bolted on to your life which can come unstuck.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzdlByudeKfPhxV_j1DvyMeBxKljNqgUubS5uY3c3bYWRkyUm6LZ4qZhZAwvZdh_aiuPE7tqNCgYj9kLsgj7bRtWNfxa9trSdIxPEJ6m5RhBMaLzH5rgsGaAs-Wh-CDziqQJorxWitF5h/s1600/wall-e%20fat%20human.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzdlByudeKfPhxV_j1DvyMeBxKljNqgUubS5uY3c3bYWRkyUm6LZ4qZhZAwvZdh_aiuPE7tqNCgYj9kLsgj7bRtWNfxa9trSdIxPEJ6m5RhBMaLzH5rgsGaAs-Wh-CDziqQJorxWitF5h/s200/wall-e%20fat%20human.jpg" width="196" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <a href="http://www.picstopin.com/314/human-wall-e-captain-a-nation-of-people/http:%7C%7C2*bp*blogspot*com%7C_NL3vhHLAeds%7CTPVDt_lTI3I%7CAAAAAAAAAOk%7CS7CscTiEhsI%7Cs1600%7Cwall-e%20fat%20human*jpg/" target="_blank">Picsto Pin</a>. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See if you always walk to work/on the school run, then you do it whether you have a li'l cold in your nosie or not. You wrap up warmer if you have a cold. Once the exercise is just what you do most days, and how you get around instead of using a motorised vehicle all the time like those people on mattresses in <a href="http://www.hive.co.uk/dvd/walle/17219687/" target="_blank">Wall-E</a>, you don't even think about it, you don't need to pay membership or to have special shoes, you Just Do It.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.insaland.com/cms/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Nike-Dunk-High-Heels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://www.insaland.com/cms/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Nike-Dunk-High-Heels.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Special shoes for walking<br />from <a href="http://www.insaland.com/blog/high-heel-nike-dunks/">Insaland.com</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You do not acksherly have to get on a bike, LOL. If a bike does not do it
for you (bouncing on that saddle 'n giding past an array of shyly
admiring dads on the school run with your skirt tucked in your
knickers), you c'n walk or use your piglet's razor scooter, whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I particularly love the bike cuz like swimming, it is non-load-bearing exercise - easy on the knees (wink). It acksherly gets me to and fro school quicker than walking <b>and </b>driving. You do not believe me about the driving? Well, you can take li'l short cuts on the bikes which you cannot take in a car. Also, in the car I often have to circle the damn school six times waiting for some other lazy MILF to move her effing car so I can finally park mine. My bicycle has the panniers on it in the old black which I can load up with heavy shopping. Then I can shop in high heels without putting strain on my shapely legs. It is totally eco so the school greatly admire me 'n Piglet when we glide in on our bikes. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.landrover-bikes.com/components/com_virtuemart/shop_image/product/resized/Cavallo_20__Girl_4ced332fc80fe_350x213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="128" src="http://www.landrover-bikes.com/components/com_virtuemart/shop_image/product/resized/Cavallo_20__Girl_4ced332fc80fe_350x213.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.landrover-bikes.com/kids-mountain-bikes/girls-mountain-bikes/cavallo-20.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pigletocycle</span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Piglet used to sit on the carrier of my bike, LOL. Even dedicated drivers of cars on their way to work would get this soft smile on their faces like, <i>Oh, that is so sweet. Look at that li'l thing in school uniform being taken to school on the back of a bike</i>. These days Piglet is a thumping great <a href="http://www.anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/from-playing-with-pigs-yesterday-piglet.html" target="_blank">karate-kicking football-playing Piglet</a> and so I say she must ride her own pink pigletocycle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are aiming to lose weight: bike is best. I do not know what it is, no doubt there are studies somewhere that will tell you it is about the anaerobic rate of waving your legs at shyly admiring dads or whatever, but regular frequent cycling does lead to you developing a lean mean muscular frame.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you can wear black lycras (wink).</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Fast-enough-already2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Fast-enough-already2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.sheilahanlon.com/?p=270" target="_blank">Sheila Hanlon's blog</a> again.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Daughter </b>(enthusiastically): Oh Mamma! I must learn bicycling! </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So delightful to go at such a pace! </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Mamma</b> (severely): No thank you, my dear; you are quite fast enough already!</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-68437091091468428802013-09-29T07:30:00.002-07:002013-09-29T07:30:25.601-07:00Pix of Pussies in Bed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Warning: seriously major cuteness alert. MILF sirens are go. This is not a drill.</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvLx7nOXjDFximvq2Iybo0rwZs3R6QHGHWsIXhb5WIC3gNmOGUR6ruq9E_N1Ss-Aky3wJXWxM5taM0A5EazzIc-DfCp7uHYs5d7ZVf21HhyUxh_6WbxJWtEl0YpWAjm2NM06jCUKd7f8/s1600/DSC_1138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvLx7nOXjDFximvq2Iybo0rwZs3R6QHGHWsIXhb5WIC3gNmOGUR6ruq9E_N1Ss-Aky3wJXWxM5taM0A5EazzIc-DfCp7uHYs5d7ZVf21HhyUxh_6WbxJWtEl0YpWAjm2NM06jCUKd7f8/s200/DSC_1138.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYJm_XwXUGGnCtNF7GSa1eFGUNagrq2R1AdD9b4nt2KLo2lmFjdg8RspLx1YZ8G_2FCsL1f_HGN5Qemm0Y9-Z_Mtv_0KuOyfXbKgtfCQB88hxMUFJ2KYCHciZ02-ipd9UgYVXloTpInY/s1600/DSC_1159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYJm_XwXUGGnCtNF7GSa1eFGUNagrq2R1AdD9b4nt2KLo2lmFjdg8RspLx1YZ8G_2FCsL1f_HGN5Qemm0Y9-Z_Mtv_0KuOyfXbKgtfCQB88hxMUFJ2KYCHciZ02-ipd9UgYVXloTpInY/s200/DSC_1159.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibYJm_XwXUGGnCtNF7GSa1eFGUNagrq2R1AdD9b4nt2KLo2lmFjdg8RspLx1YZ8G_2FCsL1f_HGN5Qemm0Y9-Z_Mtv_0KuOyfXbKgtfCQB88hxMUFJ2KYCHciZ02-ipd9UgYVXloTpInY/s1600/DSC_1159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a>This thing came with the Whore, honest. I should've realised her previous owner was a lying no-good slag as soon as I laid eyes on the load of tat that was poor Lakhi's dowry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">OK, it's the truth. I did pay a substantial sum so poor Lakhi could have a sensible bed of her own. A sturdy bed which offers good support for your back is v. important to a laydee y'know (wink). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I call this composition: cats, beds and socks. (Yah, those are Piglet's school socks I was rushing to get dry in the morning so she would have something in which to clad her tiny trotters.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiB3-3aeAv03D9nV_G7ckp1qACAAB_qXNqNmvm_kp01cAOVeGj9kK8zVDFtXTB4A0eJB212G4sJRk2T_UUusoLwBGkcr180l59yJHDWUmFde_5UJSQPqh7Sfx55xJcDx0ZOnHo_cNY40/s1600/DSC_1209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjiB3-3aeAv03D9nV_G7ckp1qACAAB_qXNqNmvm_kp01cAOVeGj9kK8zVDFtXTB4A0eJB212G4sJRk2T_UUusoLwBGkcr180l59yJHDWUmFde_5UJSQPqh7Sfx55xJcDx0ZOnHo_cNY40/s320/DSC_1209.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-48401720738558110672013-09-29T07:30:00.001-07:002013-09-29T07:40:14.864-07:00The MILF's inner tubes ...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXz-yfYbp4jtmfoJdKG1Bz4LJNqI_nN1nyN_aPIgDw6dwwHjOPUe9xXJmrt9Pzvu9KmJp6qN7ony_LXRVRlFs9ChyphenhyphenBfQvblFt6bGXrq_2otaEBD9FvqoV_m4hpg9fZeE5fkPxzrk-55Mc/s320/pp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXz-yfYbp4jtmfoJdKG1Bz4LJNqI_nN1nyN_aPIgDw6dwwHjOPUe9xXJmrt9Pzvu9KmJp6qN7ony_LXRVRlFs9ChyphenhyphenBfQvblFt6bGXrq_2otaEBD9FvqoV_m4hpg9fZeE5fkPxzrk-55Mc/s200/pp1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption">Pic from <a href="http://femmepedale.blogspot.co.uk/2011/03/repairing-puncture-why-what-obviously.html" target="_blank">Female Pédale</a>. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now now. Don't get too excited. What we are talking about here is if you get a puncture in your bicycle tyre. 'Course you can stand by the side of the road with your skirt hitched up, but I greatly prefer to do that while leaning on the bonnet of a Jaguar E Type. It is hard to lean casually on the frame of a push cycle 'n I like getting my hands dirty (wink) so if I get a puncture, I just push the li'l ole bike home and fix it myself.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGBmweuxKy4dGJ8-EHyw1mhbqavdoUM55w7KSwW6nY5HZKzf0gMB3bTvj3rB7-Hmqk9-Sldelj7gq_5E_f8dDWibn5JBOwn0N8d6xzhha8q5qGxswOLIVhud2W0-LUWgzgtA-QxyUTxo/s1600/DSC_1019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGBmweuxKy4dGJ8-EHyw1mhbqavdoUM55w7KSwW6nY5HZKzf0gMB3bTvj3rB7-Hmqk9-Sldelj7gq_5E_f8dDWibn5JBOwn0N8d6xzhha8q5qGxswOLIVhud2W0-LUWgzgtA-QxyUTxo/s1600/DSC_1019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGBmweuxKy4dGJ8-EHyw1mhbqavdoUM55w7KSwW6nY5HZKzf0gMB3bTvj3rB7-Hmqk9-Sldelj7gq_5E_f8dDWibn5JBOwn0N8d6xzhha8q5qGxswOLIVhud2W0-LUWgzgtA-QxyUTxo/s200/DSC_1019.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay, first off - flip your bike over onto its back. Yah, just let it lie there in the sunshine all nice 'n comfy. You know purrfectly well how comfy it can be to just lie back (wink), well get the bike like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here by my bicycle I have set out all the things I will be needing. I just did that to show them to you, acksherly when I start working on the bike I will put the tools out on the patio table cuz I do not bend over these days just for a bicycle wheel <snerk>.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1BFx4lPlZqKBfmgwCsw2Wee7fvB-dcmcPwSNPBCSfHIT9DbWRtUrG1vBUFKbYk1FSgH8NuzARgm2_6oOuKu3_57isjd824DEz2mFFIU5G-ngObPyvNrIv6n2CrJVy58GWBVWPUD31Tw/s1600/DSC_1020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1BFx4lPlZqKBfmgwCsw2Wee7fvB-dcmcPwSNPBCSfHIT9DbWRtUrG1vBUFKbYk1FSgH8NuzARgm2_6oOuKu3_57isjd824DEz2mFFIU5G-ngObPyvNrIv6n2CrJVy58GWBVWPUD31Tw/s200/DSC_1020.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the wheel we will be fixing today. See that lever on it? This is a quick release wheel. They came in a while ago, making it a whole lot easier to fix a puncture on a bicycle on the go. Like, on my super duper touring bike both wheels were quick release. The downside of this is, if you are leaving the bike in a public place for any length of time, you have to lock up both the wheels and the frame cuz it is v. easy to snap back that lever and just steal the wheel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This li'l beauty has a quick release wheel on the front and the back wheel is bolted in place with a regular screw. (You can of course do that screw slow and comfortable if you like <snerk>.)</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0_dvioJE_SMZ5FlgtObRxLg3jX8v1WHRRUcK0PiyIV04Co2yjmkg9dpGt8a0_ny17fvmDMjlhpv95jr-Ti_fM4KXc-eFvPKeGdeOHDFh7fcBbUZyZ8vDgxJ2xYPLVX3T1HhsfAPBp3U/s1600/DSC_1021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0_dvioJE_SMZ5FlgtObRxLg3jX8v1WHRRUcK0PiyIV04Co2yjmkg9dpGt8a0_ny17fvmDMjlhpv95jr-Ti_fM4KXc-eFvPKeGdeOHDFh7fcBbUZyZ8vDgxJ2xYPLVX3T1HhsfAPBp3U/s1600/DSC_1021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0_dvioJE_SMZ5FlgtObRxLg3jX8v1WHRRUcK0PiyIV04Co2yjmkg9dpGt8a0_ny17fvmDMjlhpv95jr-Ti_fM4KXc-eFvPKeGdeOHDFh7fcBbUZyZ8vDgxJ2xYPLVX3T1HhsfAPBp3U/s200/DSC_1021.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is my back wheel with regular screw. Oh and that other lot of stuff is the derailer. Don't you worry your pretty li'l head about that, sweet thing. We will be leaving anything to do with the derailer up to the seriously devoted bicycle boyzzz in the shop.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXk5WEH36X9ZMZpCLEANfRuEOI_HyzOyUJJ30yq92gWpV-rxQGsVtnxJ6gty25JPvU70OWYepIGdvp0I6D2nqnZnRt2JsJFOzJ1UQnilUEt6L5RhkdKCjbpcu8IxBkczL_yJoRZbAenI/s1600/DSC_1022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXk5WEH36X9ZMZpCLEANfRuEOI_HyzOyUJJ30yq92gWpV-rxQGsVtnxJ6gty25JPvU70OWYepIGdvp0I6D2nqnZnRt2JsJFOzJ1UQnilUEt6L5RhkdKCjbpcu8IxBkczL_yJoRZbAenI/s200/DSC_1022.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay, back to the front wheel which has the puncture. On the other side to the snappy lever, you will see something like this. That black cap is going to be in our way - so it needs to come off. Caps off, lads! There will be all sorts of naked screwing going on here! (I mean in other circumstances, you of course want to take the advice of The Specials: "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxHcx7FO8nI" target="_blank">Try wearing a cap</a>." I am a v. responsible MILF, y'know. <a href="http://www.literotica.com/s/a-pack-of-tales-ch-01" target="_blank">My werewolves</a> are renowned for safe sex, yah, you don't have to mention that slut <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/my-pussy.html" target="_blank">the Whore of Catylon</a> who snuck off without contraception while my back was turned - gah.)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_c3gD7_TvWmj0HpZkGFYwmj4tQ6YOINP-mg_c_pwNXTT5L53OA8lhdndoWc9geCZrQPa3AjOKcLUfk1BIDkoOvYckrWc95rFmNylxqt6U9zNqSVNKB34LX3z2T_jAPMXGh2xV_HfZ5U/s1600/DSC_1023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_c3gD7_TvWmj0HpZkGFYwmj4tQ6YOINP-mg_c_pwNXTT5L53OA8lhdndoWc9geCZrQPa3AjOKcLUfk1BIDkoOvYckrWc95rFmNylxqt6U9zNqSVNKB34LX3z2T_jAPMXGh2xV_HfZ5U/s200/DSC_1023.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And voil</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">! here is a screw and nut. I would not dream of telling you how to screw your nuts off, I am only going to say: get them off in style (wink).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Acksherly you only need to loosen the screw, not get it completely off. We like it loose here (wink).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4TjQyIDHU_LX5SNCqSjNrI4OroHABFIpe42Lyh2Rqlg0Y059QplIop7RqxrvSUKQNFYpw1ygUKCNc-529aaeu-YSaUUzMlLjyml-qu2HS7hxGysW4C-k6xyoXc1C62D_jxaRAivecyg/s1600/DSC_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4TjQyIDHU_LX5SNCqSjNrI4OroHABFIpe42Lyh2Rqlg0Y059QplIop7RqxrvSUKQNFYpw1ygUKCNc-529aaeu-YSaUUzMlLjyml-qu2HS7hxGysW4C-k6xyoXc1C62D_jxaRAivecyg/s200/DSC_1024.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'N now it is time to snap back the snappy catch for your quick release wheel. It is a li'l bit like snapping a suspender snap, 'cept completely different. Once you have snapped it back, the wheel lifts so-o-o easily out of the forks, you would not believe. (Yah, we like it to be easy as well as loose here - wink).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpR9BF5QEZvyRakL1FHoTO5sL-3jcL9pudJQVMg5CDKS8vJAqpGHWrQxyOEHoLXJQV1SC0HAk4kbnoeoieHXw1zXqFYnhC-IGbUj-i_V6UAd5bXuISinANzawHcw2BNvPF27LmPziaXnk/s1600/DSC_1025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpR9BF5QEZvyRakL1FHoTO5sL-3jcL9pudJQVMg5CDKS8vJAqpGHWrQxyOEHoLXJQV1SC0HAk4kbnoeoieHXw1zXqFYnhC-IGbUj-i_V6UAd5bXuISinANzawHcw2BNvPF27LmPziaXnk/s200/DSC_1025.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And here for your delectation and delight are the empty forks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh dear! a MILF does not like to see empty forks. We like them to be laden with spagetti bolognese what we made according to <a href="http://www.channel4.com/4food/recipes/chefs/hugh-fearnley-whittingstall/hughs-bolognese-recipe" target="_blank">Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's recipe</a> or spearing some delicious brussel sprout cooked just so and rolled in butter. But these forks must stand empty for a li'l while. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYIDifcRXn5Uj9DxO-NA6oKFzS1YjiwpnzVICGBPMWQR17mdoT3aKLjMycwkmKFNs1B5gDiu98YTmESWxPJT-zSga2oa6YRIPzSa2nZp3M-EI25ufe2yHuYOlo1xEZUruHjxMYCcE2yk/s1600/DSC_1027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYIDifcRXn5Uj9DxO-NA6oKFzS1YjiwpnzVICGBPMWQR17mdoT3aKLjMycwkmKFNs1B5gDiu98YTmESWxPJT-zSga2oa6YRIPzSa2nZp3M-EI25ufe2yHuYOlo1xEZUruHjxMYCcE2yk/s200/DSC_1027.jpg" width="150" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You c'n acksherly use spoons for this next bit. I like toys, er I mean tools, so I have this nifty pair of blue things to get the tyre off the wheel. You slip one inside the rim ...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59veibeYuAcp4NF9BEPI-e9UTCd_izi49s2pnVlzRYJ1PnJ-s6_rEyEwjxOzGqC_Nve9BJJEaH_v1OFxRo1LH1Um_wZq-tcTO1fYRFc7OAJlRcbLdgf7DC-CQFrXkjpqlHmqgZjwFJfk/s1600/DSC_1028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59veibeYuAcp4NF9BEPI-e9UTCd_izi49s2pnVlzRYJ1PnJ-s6_rEyEwjxOzGqC_Nve9BJJEaH_v1OFxRo1LH1Um_wZq-tcTO1fYRFc7OAJlRcbLdgf7DC-CQFrXkjpqlHmqgZjwFJfk/s200/DSC_1028.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then you lift the edge of the tyre over the rim of the wheel. See, rimming is no trouble at all at all.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLsncdJ4iAU0gP4ePRtg03B9jJ34VccS-atQ-M5Sv4omd5DfmNplndTbt30tJQS9glOTNOJCvHWWh58IUYkXplWHgmDeaJGGNoeO1iLBbliiiyuUcaN39xRXLw_alT9Z3vY5w7qlx2zlQ/s1600/DSC_1029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLsncdJ4iAU0gP4ePRtg03B9jJ34VccS-atQ-M5Sv4omd5DfmNplndTbt30tJQS9glOTNOJCvHWWh58IUYkXplWHgmDeaJGGNoeO1iLBbliiiyuUcaN39xRXLw_alT9Z3vY5w7qlx2zlQ/s200/DSC_1029.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hah! And here we have the inner tube exposed to the fresh air and sunshine. Squidgy squidgy - no air in the damn thing at all, bless it. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6AIN3cIFo_SMJKLGoEX1QRBUpYiJmepEHd8ktxz3xORsdygl22u6Rq7pOo4-SjSbEX8YToAcSZOE6I8VxkNoIksrUBrQtqG0esuDG3ZKrbQpnaThf2wZxrXBYgq7rlc6jMpAhvUSbR4/s1600/DSC_1031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6AIN3cIFo_SMJKLGoEX1QRBUpYiJmepEHd8ktxz3xORsdygl22u6Rq7pOo4-SjSbEX8YToAcSZOE6I8VxkNoIksrUBrQtqG0esuDG3ZKrbQpnaThf2wZxrXBYgq7rlc6jMpAhvUSbR4/s200/DSC_1031.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay this is the valve. Do not get to be confusing it with the spoke nipple (wink). (There is so such a part on a bicycle. It is that li'l thing you can see holding the spoke to the wheel.) A valve lets the air in and out. In and out. Makes a hissing noise if you press the inside nobbly bit as the air comes out - if your nipple does that, you better run off and see someone about it pronto. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, not me. I am a Dr. but not that kind. I do not mind inspecting a knee now and then (wink) but I draw the line at hissing nipples. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaemFrbnSVu7mWm6hfMmrJbhHhWG_dUwuy9MueYiDrJK2gNlEBBORdhe3xKDASqTPSYy7deIiYq5f61HuzSJ6z5ZOHSvqguwxlkK2XjYFgbmcJmRNS4Zx_-lLRtmGkT_gnbBPuqoYvyU/s1600/DSC_1032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaemFrbnSVu7mWm6hfMmrJbhHhWG_dUwuy9MueYiDrJK2gNlEBBORdhe3xKDASqTPSYy7deIiYq5f61HuzSJ6z5ZOHSvqguwxlkK2XjYFgbmcJmRNS4Zx_-lLRtmGkT_gnbBPuqoYvyU/s200/DSC_1032.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right then. While you have been carrying on, flirting in that naughty way (nudge wink), I have got the inner tube off the wheel. This is v. easy when it is deflated like this. Poor li'l thing, all flat and sad. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBlDkDz7PfMbqyk11oLFcycJiXWwsIgMJwQ6W_PEoMauyQV5uY7ADGzTSNmtrANL9eeO6DkRNvfXXbzwqvqcWzKd91N0ni0LVOYq4GdSXAvrzNZEC0ZTnMXOYLaUpsfodHky-vjJ5l8M/s1600/DSC_1033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBlDkDz7PfMbqyk11oLFcycJiXWwsIgMJwQ6W_PEoMauyQV5uY7ADGzTSNmtrANL9eeO6DkRNvfXXbzwqvqcWzKd91N0ni0LVOYq4GdSXAvrzNZEC0ZTnMXOYLaUpsfodHky-vjJ5l8M/s200/DSC_1033.jpg" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are the tools you need for the next bit. Not the rhubarb, that is something Piglet has been playing with and left lying around on the patio table. This year the rhubarb bolted 'n <a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=883259&page=submissions" target="_blank">HP</a> says they are not good to eat once they go green or something so they became part of some Piglet game instead of crumble. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yah, that is a tub of water. It is all going to get wet as well as loose 'n easy (wink). </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-Uw1sXI4r1rmoOgLFUrWKm2dzD0kXdrwKN1jegpJUDgnpQ5Bb3BrSbgHcl4foqTEXTZDxHeeZWbgIVlJzhUXGWkjRWXYPysuEF8Kr2UQHDEhf4gREbgJtRiigE4wdzGvLzJmgU1nDN8/s200/DSC_1034.jpg" width="200" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is my bicycle pump with the valve connector sticking out the top. You can press it in and out. You can do that all day! In and out. Oh ... yah, the puncture. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gVfWn0tavIMEipF-L6nBscnojF0ILa1bUNJTRKhJMLowz8mknnuQbbZo3meo6A9cHqOB5falbJ0-BjPBUHwWp2ERMRqon3lbnNF61HyQotFen5K8SEecZWMy7EniyxKzDtRUamsOAV0/s200/DSC_1035.jpg" width="200" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The valve connector screws into the other end of the pump. (You are right! there is lots of screwing involved in this. How unusual for my blog - wink.) </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKvbJ0oPzKzua42p-Kuv9k_nygJff1C9oVwt1aXS1fm9Y_L5L3hDEG_MeygQhgpVMYUUTH0zD6KCdnMOE1_99Ko6XibI165ujkvrolkD797l8-CjSYGum3C065qqaAf9tdLvNXat7eC4/s200/DSC_1039.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'N here is the bicycle pump screwed into the valve, connected up and dangling from the inner tube. No, I do not think it looks suggestive at all. I don't know what it reminds you of, we are here just pumping up the inner tube. No, I would not dream of calling this a blow job <snerk>. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhT__YLmdp4vl8Zw9jsjUljo3L3FSY45wOm-68eJb6vBLo560BYDoa3k1_kTV12YCbXngo5d1Ht7j40Hmb2nR5UoCLXmitoblsCly7iBmapIgRpSGICH5o9wWZ160a-MvzmXgexR1AQk/s200/DSC_1041.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stick your inner tube into the water. You can see there a patch I put on when I had a puncture a couple of weeks ago. (I am starting to wonder if I need to get a new inner tube or maybe there is some problem inside the wheel, cuz this one does seem to require the fondling, blowing, getting all wet experience on a rather frequent basis.) </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCIC48wzSNSoGMCDBqxyumG3_r7-vHzT5gAvvfMwJhKNrEAjaX-PTlqKWgjuhcXTDoyQxQNhyphenhyphen6e4nVyfUNoO6ER32SH7miTyyBCM49xzo7-OPCQNF6bKgAQFu0aJM8F-USrrtblJ6GQA/s200/DSC_1046.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There we go! I have been running the inner tube through the wetness and I have seen a li'l stream of bubbles coming up. That is where your hole is. Your hole in the inner tube! If li'l bubbles are coming out of ... go and see a proper doctor! </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30xuXxBu9ZwNKrml7pC0cw_S4De8Ksoyhlad3PbEQvT9k13k3VCLRD4Vf_tSowjwXfDrrjjnsPCKNtP1JBrIAnkYl2AYh6xYHTVh5ZLbxuCqudoGR1pJ0rXfh_m-0yB3Ug_CdHVelWJQ/s200/DSC_1048.jpg" width="200" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is the puncture repair kit all laid out by the inner tube. This is the sort of thing the MILF adores. It is cheap 'n handy (wink). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Laid out here from the right are the yellow crayon and piece of chalk (those are for marking where the hole is in case it is a teeny tiny tight one and you cannot see it). Next to them are the patches. Then the glue. Some useless instructions and a piece of sandpaper. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLi67nHLJuoFQRJILuWhuwzztQT0N16j9PpK-MRjcOI3WGKJR_z5IRqu_WlJc-wpg_kyYzkAbm2GxKLqc9TEyerSmSVZQhIchmxiXZX4xzFIcZRMyKzqnkSSdoZeT3TwZz800762XtIWA/s200/DSC_1049.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am not going to bother with the yellow crayon or chalk cuz as you can see, my hole is big 'n you can see it purrfectly well with the naked eye. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, that yellow thing is just a bit of my apron. Did you not notice all that black grease on my thumb earlier? Gasp! I make sure I protect my li'l ole cream broderie anglaise Jaegar dress while I fix a puncture in the garden. I might need that dress for hitching up while I lean on the bonnet of a Jaguar E Type. (LOL, what are you like, 'course I do not wear a bloody cream broderie anglaise dress while fixing my bike! I wear some li'l scoop neck cotton number - which I do protect with an apron marginally cuter than the dress.) </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-kVWUVC7DKyj3Kz095BlO0h-25OK2GtH6Qm-dcYHhqVlILaAiELd8rGUXxvQt_vyYVGGV5ynij9FZbb8GzKCkn-IcichSoHAtsTdWJOS23AtQ0V7dRl9cIwjS1ULz7BA2FmpK7yohEs/s200/DSC_1050.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is the patch. You should peel it away from the transparent plastic and the tin foil cover but the boyzzz in the bicycle shop assured me that you do not peel the black circle off of the orange circle. (I thought not but I decided to check as I do not wish to be giving you misleading instructions on here about how to finger your hole. The boyzzzz did not giggle very much when I asked, and agreed heartily that the instructions are written in a misleading and exceedingly poorly illustrated fashion.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You want to dry your inner tube with a tissue, then rough up the area around your hole with the sandpaper. (We like a bit of rough - wink. Especially while tackling something loose, wet and easy <snerk>.) Stick some of the glue on. Wait for one minute (or however long the leaflet says you should wait; they are usually at least clear on this). Stick the patch on and amuse yourself for a few minutes while it dries. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gosh, sweet thing! Far be it from me to suggest how you might amuse yourself for a few minutes in a sunny garden with a bicycle pump to hand. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQ0HF-dXNEGMtkpDYtiphj-OfvWqLiwMg_DU_vroN57LDIVZEYxHEsgBQCJQE1RfyC4ZtfDwYRDe4GKO0qh8jDZ_b0MDHi0L17WTdfDMJ2Yx5WhcG_wYhmfp5Gy_9QwPmY9mnETZ_wsQ/s200/DSC_1052.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay, now you are going to let down the inner tube and slot it into the tyre. You need it to be flat for the next bit. Let air out by pressing on the valve so it hisses not like your nipple for a minute and then just run the inner tube all round inside the tyre so it fits in nice 'n snug like ... like a finger in a ... in a glove. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPVov1BOV_yElvF5RCH-nxFeyp0Zx66pUslhRVTRCGxULFxa0Fkpx_5VuBITxbNVqD050oBinI4FW1fkoK7TcbFTfEs2b8v9GB54juoO_188AONFFEuGqcZpyhhtUlo4SQE7Yg8ACjXg/s200/DSC_1053.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make sure you slot the valve into the hole in the bicycle rim. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am saying nothing. This does not remind me of anything (wink). </span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqSDgI94yCSwxzRSQdiFiOQKub7mI21gzNCnf80av7U56_HFVoID6IqU6_V5PBuDWay5YuulLuVHZUfwdCZ4GzWZGAGhhkNY014Dn09mxEYBRboc0eCnC_V8JhTWZ1NSciEB7OLMK3FI/s200/DSC_1054.jpg" width="200" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You want both your li'l blue toys ... er, tyre levers, for this next bit. One rim of the tyre should already be completely fitted inside the rim of your wheel. The other will be hanging over the rim on the other side. You put one tyre lever inside the rim and hold the tyre rim in place. Then you run the other one round so that the tyre rim slides back into place rapidly. You may have to make an extra effort pushing at the end. I find there quite often is need for some extra effort to get things properly finished off at the end. </span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxBscwe7en1_tDDlGezeYX3Ng96t6R512IudQSaBEFTswMdteKkiJ2ureUtTymQiX9VyC-FSPufSNwv4otsVn_aOK1ZzHTAe8e2pJpMbdFZFAw1JYBSLu2XXRRGTnpSoQzzrlKwcsz4A/s200/DSC_1058.jpg" width="150" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh Kay! pop that wheel back into the front forks. Make sure it's well fitted so the brake blocks are going to grip on the wheel rim when you need to apply the brakes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rescrew the screw. Remember to put the all important cap on! Snap the lever down again. If this is too stiff, you need to loosen your screw. Just a little bit. Don't make it loose and easy to get off (wink). Just so someone would have to work at it - cuz a li'l bit of screwing around is such fun. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">we can blow up the inner tube again, pump away at it - all snuggly wuggly fitted into the tyre. (You should save this bit till last as otherwise the wheel does not fit between the brake blocks. You do not want to be pushing hard, your face getting all flushed 'n sweaty, just to get a bicycle wheel into position.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And ... ready to go! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, you, bicycle! Get off your back and think of Scotland, LOL. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-87937901523550545952013-09-21T07:46:00.000-07:002013-09-21T07:46:36.158-07:00Way of the MILF - Losing Weight Tip # 2<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thestonefoundation.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/be-happy6-292x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.thestonefoundation.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/be-happy6-292x300.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thestonefoundation.com/wednesday-wisdom/dont-worry-be-happy/" target="_blank">The Stone Foundation</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
'Kay, we are advancing well now in our new bras, I am hoping; eyes to the front? 'Kay then, let's move on. Step two to losing weight is, <i>Be Happy</i>. A lot of people think: 'Oh if I was slim and lissom, I would be happy.' They have got it the wrong way round.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Acksherly being a skinny malink is all about being miserable. If you want to be real skinny like a super model you have to be totally obsessed with food and always hungry, which is not a nice state to be in at all at all.<br />
<br />
When I was a li'l kitten at university, I used to go on diets. I would think: 'Tomorrow I will start my new super diet.' The next day I would wake up with no recollection of this earnest resolution. However some very clever part of my brain would remember it and go: 'Ooooh, help! The silly minx is going to start starving herself. Get the calories in quick while you've got a chance.' Some strange impulse would lead me to buy a packet of chocolate biscuits. I would eat half of the packet in a trance. Then I would remember that I was supposed to be on a diet. After staring in horror and loathing at the remainder of the packet of biscuits, I would eat it to console myself for the stricken guilt I was experiencing.<br />
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Yah, yah, that is a very silly way to carry on. I was just a li'l kitten with puppy fat, LOL.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.winehound.co.uk/images/content/Bellini%20cocktail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.winehound.co.uk/images/content/Bellini%20cocktail.jpg" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recipe from <a href="http://www.winehound.co.uk/pages/Prosecco-Wines" target="_blank">Winehound</a></td></tr>
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One day it occurred to me that I could spend the rest of my life anxiously counting the calories in each lettuce leaf I ingested, 'n having conversations that were like: "So-o-o this morning for breakfast I ate one slice of toast with butter on and another without butter. I skipped the milk in my coffee. Do you think that means I can have half of this bread roll or should I have a biscuit?" Like, that is so boring that if my friends were ever to start doing that to me, I would be going: "Gosh is that the time, I must run even though we have not had starters yet and you are paying for this three-course meal in Carluccios. Oh, I will just down my Bellini in one before I run out the door."<br />
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Or I could eat a large and juicy steak.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://alisonkerr.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/audrey-sabrina-leggings-etc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://alisonkerr.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/audrey-sabrina-leggings-etc.jpg" width="157" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://alisonkerr.wordpress.com/category/movies/page/2/" target="_blank">Alison Kerr's blog</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I opted for the steak. I determined never again to worry about what I was eating and to eat just exactly whatever I felt like, when I felt like it. It took a few months for me to get over the palpitations of anxiety and fear that I would balloon out like a balloon. What happened instead is, I had a distracting love affair which distracted me from food and I lost my appetite (:eeek:! yah, it involved a monk, a Russian scholar and a double-booked bathtime, LOL). I went away at the end of the academic year in baggy dresses with chubby cheeks and came back in slinky black ski-pants looking like Audrey Hepburn. I turned up at a college feminist discussion group to find they were talking about Fat is a Feminist Issue, 'n we talked about this for a while very earnestly then the leader of the group said: "But what we all want to know, Naoko, is: how did you lose all that weight."<br />
<br />
Well, acksherly I seriously did just buy a new set of slinky clothes <snerk>.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/72/LolitaPoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/72/LolitaPoster.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lolita_(1962_film)" target="_blank">Wikipedia on <i>Lolita</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, anyway, the main thing is I was distracted by the monk and the Russian scholar and my bath - I have always been a little sorry I did not go off with that nice man who had interesting opinions on <i>Lolita</i>. So I only ate what I needed instead of consolatory chocolate biscuits 'n I lost weight. I did not obsess about my weight, in which case I would prolly not have noticed either the monk or the Russian scholar or the interesting man who knew about <i>Lolita. </i>Even if I had spotted them instead of obsessing about how many lettuce leaves I could safely nibble, they would have downed their Bellinis in one and done a runner as soon as I started going: "Ooh, I had a small bowl of porridge for breakfast 'n a glass of unsweetened orange juice, I better have the miserable li'l chicken dish and sulk about it instead of noshing on a lovely juicy steak."<br />
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I just want to make clear, dahlinks; I did not intend to share my bath with <i>two </i>men, I am not a slag y'know. I just double-booked. It could happen to anyone.<br />
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I did lose a shedload of weight recently and I did it like this. I was v. unhappy about this and that and for a year I was eating a packet of crisps (that's potato chips in American) 'n a slab of chocolate every night cuz I was so miserable. Then <a href="http://anthropologicalmum.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/loss-of-immummity.html" target="_blank">I was poorly</a>. Then something in me woke up and said, <i>This is no life </i>and I started writing and flirting and I forgot about the crisps and chocolate. The weight rolled off me 'n now some of my knickers are a li'l bit loose, which is v. annoying when you are on the schoolrun 'n they are sliding down your leg instead of sticking around your bum (wink). I will have to buy a new set, and matching bras, and people will say: "G-G-Gosh, you lost weight," and I will say, "No dahlink, I bought yet another new bra, would you like a sneak peek?"<br />
<br />
Gah, it is nothing but a nuisance, this weight-losing business. I have a favourite dress now which does not fit at all at all and I am so cross cuz I love it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.dvdtimes.co.uk/protectedimage.php?image=NoelMegahey/shakespearewallah1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="104" src="http://www.dvdtimes.co.uk/protectedimage.php?image=NoelMegahey/shakespearewallah1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://film.thedigitalfix.com/content/id/12561/shakespeare-wallah.html" target="_blank">review of DVD</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember years ago seeing Felicity Kendall in Shakespeare Wallah. She is so young in that film, still with puppy fat, and she is so beautiful. I rushed to the mirror cuz I thought: 'Oooh, I am young and a li'l bit chubby like that,' but when I got there I was gutted cuz I saw I had lost weight 'n looked like a skinny malink.<br />
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'N another thing I am always v. anxious about with the weight losing is my dimple. I have a real super dimple in my cheek. No, not that cheek! Gah! how dare you <snerk>. The dimple in that cheek is a separate matter and quite private - unless the loose knickers have rolled right off the bum and there is a wind which catches my skirt. Anyway, anyway, I have my dimple in my cheek where anyone can see it all the time, 'n I am a bit nervous in case I lose weight and it disappears. That would be torrid! cuz I love that li'l dimple which only really appears when I am v. happy and laughing a lot.<br />
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Gosh, if I get too happy and distracted from the crisps and chocolate who knows, so I make sure I feed up if I get a chance (wink).<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs.babble.com/the-new-home-ec/files/2012/06/eat-the-other-half.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://blogs.babble.com/the-new-home-ec/files/2012/06/eat-the-other-half.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recipe for ice cream<br />
sandwich cake <a href="http://www.babble.com/crafts-activities/its-not-just-for-kids-ice-cream-sandwich-cake/" target="_blank">here</a>.</td></tr>
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MLFs are prone to stack it on, dahlinks, when the piglets are a certain age. We go round living off their scraps: 'Ooh dear, here is half a cake and a li'l biscuit. I do not like to waste them so I better hoover them up myself.' Unsurprisingly we end up rotund. When the piglets are old enough to go to school all day and eat sensibly instead of having to be fed five times a day cuz their tummies are too little to hold more than a couple of hours' worth of food, the weight starts dropping off cuz we can go out having coffee while the piglets are in school, and being happily ourselves again instead of totally wrapped up in the little piglets.<br />
<br />
'N acksherly, a li'l roll of fat is sexy. One v. saucy photographer whose <a href="http://feministerotica.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/pleasuring-ella.html" target="_blank">lovely story I reviewed </a>said once he likes it on ladies. He has some sexy photos which show what a lovely curve a li'l belly fat makes. As for cubs - if there is not a love handle there, what can you grip in order to pull someone along - uh, I just mean out the door to hang the laundry up (wink).<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-15798814431180173732013-09-19T06:56:00.000-07:002013-09-19T06:56:21.405-07:00How to Comment Like an Anonymouse<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.whatsitsgalore.com/disney/costumeart/costumemouseketeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.whatsitsgalore.com/disney/costumeart/costumemouseketeer.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anonymice making a song and dance<br />about things on <a href="http://www.whatsitsgalore.com/disney/costume.html" target="_blank">Whatsit Galore</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm v. excited about this, chums. As you know, <a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=883259&page=submissions" target="_blank">HP</a> has been v. kind and helpful to me in regards to the <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-saga-of-wishy-washy-wiper-water.html" target="_blank">wishy washy wiper water bottle</a> and suchlike. However he is having trouble posting comments on here. Well, that is not good cuz HP is a friend indeed and I would like to see his li'l cheeky face popping in now and then. So I am delighted to write a post just for him, to tell him how to comment like an Anonymouse.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>On the writers' board people sometimes have a grumble about Anonymice who come on their stories and write the literary critic's equivalent of: "You stink and your mother is a naughty lady." Personally, I write romance, so I have a rather different kind of Anonymice (you can read about them <a href="http://feministeroticawriters.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/three-cheeses-for-anonymice.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Anyway, I totally welcome HP commenting here under the cloak of anonymity so here is how to do it.<br />
<br />
Go to the Comments. Yah, yah, that white box at the bottom which says in it: <i>Enter your comment ... </i>Underneath is a thing that says: Comment as. 'N if you are a Google boogie baby, your name will prolly appear in there as the automatic commenting persona. Click on the li'l arrow by the side and a string of alternatives will appear, among which is Anonymous. Click on that.<br />
<br />
Now enter your comment, and you can make a li'l note at the top to identify yourself as HP or the Queen of Tarts or whoever. 'Cept you must not say you are HP if you are not HP cuz that would be confusing and identity theft and wrong.<br />
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<a href="https://www.google.com/recaptcha/api/image?c=03AHJ_VuuAc5rnb4IGeFD9cwfhFC9fNxsiF_5xMYCiI8rrFkxuuunbgiP-fG2k4K-8Kty_P45nZdBXJZgydR3_KlpsrFR3aGep9yc0mKnPC66XEmZVkPCpIQ-8MGEqdgHrbbgkABJuFK_D7xRAiGY1ISbGpIMIlyE2jQq6_6DKOLcLg6e65IOV1BY" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://www.google.com/recaptcha/api/image?c=03AHJ_VuuAc5rnb4IGeFD9cwfhFC9fNxsiF_5xMYCiI8rrFkxuuunbgiP-fG2k4K-8Kty_P45nZdBXJZgydR3_KlpsrFR3aGep9yc0mKnPC66XEmZVkPCpIQ-8MGEqdgHrbbgkABJuFK_D7xRAiGY1ISbGpIMIlyE2jQq6_6DKOLcLg6e65IOV1BY" /></a></div>
When you go to Preview or Publish your comment, a box will appear telling you to enter two words: one being a piccie (not of anything exciting, get over yourself! it will be two or three numbers) and one being letters all over the place in a manner which will make you wonder if you ought to have scoffled that li'l blue tablet you found in the drawer after all. That is so that we all know you are you and not a computer programme in Taiwan trying to post a message telling us all to buy something we do not want to buy which is no use to man nor beast and certainly not to MILFs. You can click on the speaker icon if you like and hear the numbers and word. You just type the letters and numbers out into the box to say: <i>A OK, I am a real honest to God human being</i>, and you can click Publish and then your comment should appear like magic!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlg6VHblX1ndE97rui7SPAdk5yAWGJxdsEAZjMuwE8Ge-bQO_IrPYsiWN5BX_21cEbMcelrzSa-PHme0XRNisDkV6XSPcTvWibK1lB92l-7jDDObVtp5yulrTJorefSGx4KYhFnd1dvcg/s1600/Amazon+Naoko+Smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlg6VHblX1ndE97rui7SPAdk5yAWGJxdsEAZjMuwE8Ge-bQO_IrPYsiWN5BX_21cEbMcelrzSa-PHme0XRNisDkV6XSPcTvWibK1lB92l-7jDDObVtp5yulrTJorefSGx4KYhFnd1dvcg/s200/Amazon+Naoko+Smith.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
See, here is a comment I <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/a-milfs-best-friend.html" target="_blank">posted as an Anonymouse on my own blog</a> earlier. You can tell it is not me cuz there is no piccie of my writing desk with chocolates by the side. 'N you can tell it is me cuz I have said so in a li'l note at the top.<br />
<br />
(Yah, that is seriously what I write the smut on, LOL, I write it all out in longhand and then type it up. Sorry, no, those chocolates are long gone, dahlink. They were Godiva, very nomm-y.)<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-7244204751364263202013-09-17T05:35:00.000-07:002013-09-17T05:35:15.045-07:00Way of the MILF - Losing Weight Tip # 1<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.bravissimo.com/products/bp-cl100purb-smallthumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.bravissimo.com/products/bp-cl100purb-smallthumb.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bravissimo.com/products/lingerie/sensational-sets/marcie-bra/purple/cl100pur/" target="_blank">Bravissimo</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Buy a new bra.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Yah yah, if you are wearing the wrong size of bra - and about 99% of women are, then your boobs are all squashed out of shape. You need to get something which will lift up your boobs 'n hold them properly so your figure can be shown off well. It is amazing the number of women to whom people say: "Gosh you lost weight!" when they acksherly just bought a properly fitted bra for the first time.<br />
<br />
There are lots of places that say they fit a bra properly but they don't. I mean big names what I am not going to name here cuz I do not want a big fat lawsuit on my doorstep. If there is going to be fat around I like it marbled through a piece of Aberdeen Angus fillet steak which has been matured for six weeks.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7239/7209220322_9bb15178a1_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7239/7209220322_9bb15178a1_z.jpg" width="121" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/73010013@N02/7209220322/" target="_blank">Flickr pic</a></td></tr>
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'Kay you cubs (cuz I know you have snuck in here pretending you are looking at pix of bras when you too are secretly fretting that you are chubby), you can buy a new bra if that is your thing. Otherwise you can get a more snugly fitted pair of jeans. Sloppy jeans do not make you look like a little slim thing in jeans that are too big, they make you look sloppy. C'mon now! if you have got buns then the least you can do is show 'em off to us. Give 'em a shake as you go hang out my laundry. Yes! now we are partying! Ooooh, there is nothing nicer than a pair of good buns well outlined in snugly fitted denim (wink). You cannot pinch if there is not an inch to pinch, y'know.<br />
<br />
'Kay, you kittens. I shop for my bras at <a href="http://www.bravissimo.com/" target="_blank">Bravissimo</a>. They fit properly 'n they do the larger laydees. Not that I am saying anything about my bosoms, 'cept that they are nothing to be ashamed of 'n I dress them in style <snerk>. This was not always the case. For several years I clung to a struggling drudge identity. I wore old breast-feeding bras which had been badly fitted 'n were stretched well beyond their throw-it-in-the-bin date. Nobody bought me <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/the-stranger-on-train-oysters-and.html" target="_blank">oysters and champagne</a>. Even I thought I was boring, cuz 'smatteroffact, I was boring. But these days, sweetie, I go sashaying through the streets 'n I have to kick them back, believe me. All because I wear a well-fitted bra, LOL.<br />
<br />
What you want to look for in a bra is:<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1XSNZeMNFcdfQtOlWPmaRhK8ioRr1GTFQE8gst7ybss_jTBv4lM58i3DrNnXZad8h6QP3NXa2VBWKEwODnUjYDE0K-vZyC5SUudNbm5SYqjNBzfGZQU9sMq16q0RZbG8_O1QQZidOg/s320/PlaytexSuperbra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1XSNZeMNFcdfQtOlWPmaRhK8ioRr1GTFQE8gst7ybss_jTBv4lM58i3DrNnXZad8h6QP3NXa2VBWKEwODnUjYDE0K-vZyC5SUudNbm5SYqjNBzfGZQU9sMq16q0RZbG8_O1QQZidOg/s200/PlaytexSuperbra.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.boosaurus.com/2012/02/bra-fitting-five-signs-of-poor-fit.html" target="_blank">Boosaurus</a> offers 5 tips to help you <br />spot a badly fitted bra. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One - do the wires curving in the centre of the bra lie snugly to your chest in the valley between your Alpine range. If the wires are standing proud of your chest the cup size is too small for you.<br />
<br />
Two - does the cup fit pleasantly round one of your boobies, without leaving room in there for a family of fieldmice to set up home. Your two boobies are different sizes so one of them will have to be a li'l bit free 'n easy but there should be a good snug fit for the other one.<br />
<br />
Three - can you hook the bra up on the last set of hooks. You want to be sure 'n do this cuz the bra will stretch, 'n then you can gradually move up the sets of hooks until you reach the last one when you <b>throw the bra away and buy a new one</b>! You do not keep it hanging around cuz you think you cannot afford a new bra. You cannot afford to leave your prize assets hanging in badly fitted bras or people will think you are putting on weight, there.<br />
<br />
LOL, OK, it is not only because I wear a good bra that I sometimes find a stranger is strangely generous to me (wink). There was a stage I had to go through in order to feel I deserved to buy myself a proper and well-fitted bra.<br />
<br />
I once had to go to my physiotherapist cuz I had bad pains in my fingers. I could not do my writing cuz of the buzzy fuzzy pain in my littlest finger and the one next to it. I thought it was cuz I was doing too much typing.<br />
<br />
But the physiotherapist said: "No." He said it was coming from my neck, where the nerves for your fingers are all bunched up. He said I should sort out my posture and was I free for dinner on Thursday.<br />
<br />
I began to straighten my back and walk with my head up. This necessitated sticking my chest out. As I went about my business and attended lectures given by eminent blokes and asked pointy questions in a postmodern feminist way about things they were saying, I felt as if I were poking my great big boobs out and saying: "Look at my boobs while you answer."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/1064/1064,1279034312,2/stock-photo-beautiful-latin-woman-wearing-glasses-57074419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/1064/1064,1279034312,2/stock-photo-beautiful-latin-woman-wearing-glasses-57074419.jpg" width="127" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.shutterstock.com/s/%22librarian+glasses%22/search.html#id=57074419&src=7Qzq5BIid5JQW__q0J7PFg-1-13" target="_blank">Shutterstock</a>. See how<br />these glasses distract<br />from the cleavage?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
'Course they were looking at my boobs anyway, cuz unfortunately I have always had 20/20 vision and so I can't have glasses to peer over which might have distracted from the boobs.<br />
<br />
I did not acksherly want answers to my pointy questions directed at the point of my boobs, so I realised I had always gone about my business hunched up and hiding them as best I could. I tried to flatten my body out and look like a bloke cuz blokes are normal and invisible and can get on with their business while gurrrlzzz have to go: "La la la, I am intelligent too, y'know, stop looking at my boobs."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120229022051/disney/images/f/fe/Quasimodo_KH.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120229022051/disney/images/f/fe/Quasimodo_KH.png" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Quasimodo" target="_blank">Disney wikia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Even if you are hunched up like Quasimodo, men will look at your boobs so get over it. Straighten your back, stand tall and buy a new bra so they have something decent to look at. Stick those boobs out in a way that says: "Yeah? My brain is even bigger so answer my question without stuttering, if you please."<br />
<br />
Everyone will say: "G-G-Gosh, you've lost weight." You can smile smugly. 'Course I say: "Oh no, I bought a new bra. It is green with delicious dark pink roses embroidered on it," 'n I give the prize assets a li'l shake, cuz I like to hear a nice stutter <snerk>. Champagne? That'll do nicely.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-39216355113897867232013-09-16T06:33:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:33:20.766-07:00A MILF's Best Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRg09JEe4WW-J_ATBiY3qJXjpzyIRT2rvA7dt812hEj599qKIkMvYkPGqw80SLJXj69btxYuQki4nnjf5OMcYHNpng7Nln4svg9QTtNHfJ4AXFGB8PWxm1WBwYH2Jnj0UbPKpzgR4-Zs/s1600/DSC_1154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRg09JEe4WW-J_ATBiY3qJXjpzyIRT2rvA7dt812hEj599qKIkMvYkPGqw80SLJXj69btxYuQki4nnjf5OMcYHNpng7Nln4svg9QTtNHfJ4AXFGB8PWxm1WBwYH2Jnj0UbPKpzgR4-Zs/s200/DSC_1154.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There it is! the little yellow bottle with the black cap. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other bottles are Piglet's water bottles for school. You can see the whole evolutionary range there,from Marie the Kitten to the latest one - with a cup that screws on the bottom of the bottle - so dinky. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A gurrl's best friend is of course diamonds, but the MILF has just dropped her diamond earring on the floor somewhere necessitating lots of annoying hunting around so she is in a bad mood with diamonds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not mean BFF. 'Course you have your BFFs (Best Friend Forever), about ten of them, like Piglet does. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not mean 'best friend' like the Barons sometimes say to their MILFs: "oh you are my best friend," and the MILFs think: 'Hmmm, I would have thought you would select someone who likes beer and football as a 'best friend'. That does sound like it ought to be romantic, although I would rather it was accompanied by some roses - and pearls (since I am in a bad mood with diamonds).' The MILFs feel bad about it cuz they do not think of the Baron as a 'best friend', but as a partner. The MILF's best friend is that one person in the whole wide world who is like her twin soul and shrieks with glee when they manage to get together and likes the same things she likes and will eat cream cakes with gusto and snigger if the MILF says: "Hey, let's go get some halloumi cheese, make a salad and sit on a picnic rug reading Byron and Shelley." Me 'n my best friend had the best times going out to parks in London. We would sit down the minute we could find some grass so we could immediately start eating the yummy food we had brought along before reading poems to each other and then going for a nice walk with the food in our tumtums instead of having to be carried in bags on our backs. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.everbuild.co.uk/image/cache/data/Wood%20Adhesive%20Group%20Shot-500x500.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.everbuild.co.uk/image/cache/data/Wood%20Adhesive%20Group%20Shot-500x500.png" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.everbuild.co.uk/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=69" target="_blank">Ever Build</a>. Just buy the littlest<br />bottle, dahlink. The dinky one.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the MILF's best friend is also wood glue. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Never mind that stuff you can put on your nails that makes them unchippable (although if you have the brand name, dahlink, slip it in my stocking top - wink). What you want to keep the li'l smile dancing on your pretty li'l lips, is wood glue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can see in my above illustration, there is a longrunning dispute between myself and the stupid shelf-thing to the side of the sink. In the first place, that is a silly place for a shelf and it gets bunged up with all sorts of rubbish: empty milk bottles washed 'n waiting to be put on the step for the milkman, medicine waiting to be taken to the chemist to be disposed of, etc etc. (The medicine lives on the shelf below so as not to contaminate Piglet's water bottles and stunt her growth.) Secondly, that decorative balconette railing thing is always floating free of the actual shelf-thing and so the Piglet water bottles, milk bottles, and bottles of redundant medicine all fall out of the shelf and scare the pussies. Well, a pussy that is jumping in the air with its hair bristling on end and claws sticking out is not a pretty sight! So my best friend the wood glue has to be quickly applied. (To the shelf, not the pussy.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do treat this as an opportunity to have a li'l clean out. I give the shelf and stupid decorative balconnette railing thing a wash and I sort the old medicine bottles into a plastic bag which I leave lying around forgetting to take it to the chemist. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs223sLyz4P54FSo2_CBcmOoX6WgyFuyh33tOQoXfnnoJy-cWTrXZcHA6uAxaeUcF66pSxkjZiFdmKY95k4_PTGjSIA-v2I_Nsns7LkwdDxraUR8UXER7YfhAr6ci3OxrkOrtjKiBBEdQ/s1600/DSC_1163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs223sLyz4P54FSo2_CBcmOoX6WgyFuyh33tOQoXfnnoJy-cWTrXZcHA6uAxaeUcF66pSxkjZiFdmKY95k4_PTGjSIA-v2I_Nsns7LkwdDxraUR8UXER7YfhAr6ci3OxrkOrtjKiBBEdQ/s200/DSC_1163.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is another v. recent application of my best friend to the problem. Only last Saturday, I grasped the knob of my cutlery drawer and the whole front of the drawer came away in my hand. Well, when I take hold of a knob this is not the sort of thing that I like to see happening at all at all. Drawers should not be dropped when you pull on a knob. Er ... except in special circumstances of course, ... y'know what I mean, shut up at the back there, stop giggling. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-GVmPil4Q8sQPzKZZr4OSz8SZhrtbZxIIhRfvkmGHXRDrWyFH_6zR54-nlnzpw6bZFq37cygzAvMQpOutus3FE-tAB7ekiAmv81_XB1UxPvAANiQ8vC3AnZZfRDUoI6fjjl5UtUWHaM/s1600/DSC_1169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-GVmPil4Q8sQPzKZZr4OSz8SZhrtbZxIIhRfvkmGHXRDrWyFH_6zR54-nlnzpw6bZFq37cygzAvMQpOutus3FE-tAB7ekiAmv81_XB1UxPvAANiQ8vC3AnZZfRDUoI6fjjl5UtUWHaM/s200/DSC_1169.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, it happened on the night the Baron was going out to a boring work party (so boring that I refused to go) and Super MILF had come round with her piglet for a sleepover and Phoenix Mum was there with her Egg, so I did not have time to empty out the cutlery drawer of the knives and forks and chopsticks and li'l chopstick boxes, clean the drawer and mend it reelly carefully. I just swiped some wood glue on and - leaving the drawer with all the cutlery still in it - I pushed the front of the drawer in with the knob sticking back up again nice n' shiny (will you shut up and stop giggling!). I did not even have to press on it to hold it together while it stuck and it is all fine and feisty now! I can pull on that knob and push back and forth all day long if I want to. How fantastic is that wood glue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No I do not have time to pull on your knob too. Pull up your drawers yourself. I have a Baron who doesn't do anything around the house already, I have no need for a lot of cubs with jobs needing to be taken in hand </span><img src="http://forum.literotica.com/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. (What are you larfing at now? Sheesh!) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Er, where was I. Oh yes. See how well the wood glue works! Sometimes I try it on things that are not reely wood. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Suck it and see, as I say! (Not the glue. Don't suck that.) I have other glues of course, especially plastic glue but I have lost faith in that cuz it did not mend my diamante sunglasses (sniff). (Do not sniff the glue either.) </span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03366894481117816034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8320942065660593210.post-46333187871602267642013-09-15T09:56:00.000-07:002013-10-01T09:02:57.066-07:00The Subject Position of Masculinity is Not Easy to Maintain<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lifestyle.msn.co.nz/img/nzmen/intheknow/030912-friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://lifestyle.msn.co.nz/img/nzmen/intheknow/030912-friends.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From <a href="http://lifestyle.msn.co.nz/nzmenslifestyle/intheknow/8526470/the-types-of-friend-every-man-needs" target="_blank">NZ Men</a> - lifestyle mag.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eh what? What did she say? Gah, she is being all Dr. Smith! Where is the
MILFy flirting?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay, yah. This blogpost is about being a man, and whether that is hard
work and I suppose I do wonder, <i>Why do men bother? </i>And unfortunately, I think
it's because it's What Women Want (to answer <a href="http://psychology.about.com/od/sigmundfreud/p/freud_women.htm" target="_blank">Freud's infamous question</a>).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.grassrootsfeminism.net/cms/sites/default/files/200px-Spare_Rib_magazine_cover_Dec_1972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.grassrootsfeminism.net/cms/sites/default/files/200px-Spare_Rib_magazine_cover_Dec_1972.jpg" width="142" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From <a href="http://www.grassrootsfeminism.net/cms/node/234" target="_blank">grassroots femnism</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was a li'l kitten I read one of those earnest early feminist
books, those ones that tell the story of their life and by reading their story
you go along the author's journey 'n realise what it is like to be A Woman.
(Er, a white middle class able-bodied heterosexual woman who likes waffles that
is, LOL.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, anyway, when this author was a kitten, she had met the Man of
her Dreams. They were college sweethearts 'n he was so-o-o big and so-o-o
strong and so-o-o handsome and so-o-o clever and they got married and
... he was working, she was up to the eyeballs in nappies and they began to
argue and fight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One night when they were fighting, he suddenly broke down and began to
sob and cry. She had to take him in her arms like a little boy to comfort him.
Their relationship had got to breaking point and she realised that if they were
to survive, she could not demand things of him. He was hollow inside. She
realised she would have to let him go out and be a Dream Man, looking all big
'n strong 'n handsome n' clever. She would know he was hollow inside but she
would prop him up at home so he could go out getting in the cash for them and looking
good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Migosh, when I read that my li'l kitten eyes opened wide 'n I was like, <i>Effing Hell! is there no big bad boy in the world who could be big 'n
bad 'n strong 'n whatever?</i> I tucked the story away in my knicker
leg (wink) and went along, singing my little song, picking up cubs, dancing at
the gay bars, playing rugby, ditzing around - oh, and along the way I picked up
a PhD (wink).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pictures.abebooks.com/BOOKLADY32/md/md7698203487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://pictures.abebooks.com/BOOKLADY32/md/md7698203487.jpg" width="149" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">You can buy other books</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">than Barbara Cartland at</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.abebooks.co.uk/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=7698203487&searchurl=an%3Dbarbara%2Bcartland%26amp%3Bbt.x%3D-374%26amp%3Bbt.y%3D-296%26amp%3Bpics%3Don" target="_blank">Abe Books</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just like I was writing about in <a href="http://naokosmith.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/the-master-and-slave-milf-version.html" target="_blank">the Master and the Slave dialectic</a>, in
gendered relationships, men have power, women have knowledge. But y'know,
although men have power, we all know they are not reely that much stronger; they
are no cleverer than women. We just pretend. The women read romance stories in
which the men are SO-O-O big 'n strong. They pretend their men are so-o-o big
'n strong but behind their backs, they have a li'l bitch: "Oh, he may be
Mr Big, Chief Exec of Stuff, but he can't tie his own shoelaces! I have to do
it, he is such a baby." The men prolly feel hollow inside and nervous
about it. Cuz if you are in power and everyone is acting round you like you are
the big tough guy but they know you are not acksherly that big n' strong, and
you know they know, it must be uncomfortable. It is no fun pretending you are so-o-o big when you feel little inside and wish you had someone to hug you. 'N if your loving MILF is not very simpatico on days you feel little 'n wish she would hug you 'n make you feel big instead of bitching at you, no wonder if you get grumpy with that ditz you are keeping in vacuum cleaners.You may not be the Millionaire Duke with the big black stallion <snerk>, but at least you pay the mortgage. Usually. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There we are, sweet things. The women are cross and feel like they are
bitches for being cross and grumbling that the men are not as big 'n strong as
they pretend, 'n the men are nervous that they are not as big 'n strong as they
pretend and they are prolly very cross with the women if the women make it
plain that they know it is all a pretence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/49/Henry_Singleton_The_Ale-House_Door_c._1790.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/49/Henry_Singleton_The_Ale-House_Door_c._1790.jpg" width="163" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Women are allowed in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">proper <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pub" target="_blank">pubs</a> if they</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">are serving the beer.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read a paper written from an ethnographic study of a rural pub (which
I have unfortunately forgotten the reference for so I cannot write about it
proper academic like, gah) that described how the men would behave in the pub.
In the pub, men talked slightingly about their women and the women were all at
home with the piglets, cooking the dinner. ('Kay yah, this was the 1970s, things
are very different in pubs nowadays - and a good thing too, which I will write
about and explain on my other blog now that my students are nearly finished so
it won't distract them.) The ethnographer, who is a woman, described how one
night a woman came to the pub to say: "Your dinner is ready, come
home." All the other men laughed that that man was so under her thumb she
could come ‘n make him go home to eat his tea. So the next night he smacked her
around and beat her up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There we are. He showed them all, huh? what a big n' strong n' clever
man he was. He was not going to have some ditzy woman making it evident that he
was hollow inside and needed dinner putting into his tumtum. It was his hollow
tumtum in control, not her ditzy inability to cook dinner and keep it hot, and
keep the piglets from going bonkers with hunger, and not let the dinner dry up,
while he fed his tumtum the last savoury sips of his pint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A man does not have to smack you around to make you fear he might, of
course. Even when I just write this story, us gurlzzzz all go mm, and have a
li'l shiver 'n we think we might not grumble so bitterly about having to tie up
the shoelaces for the kids over 40. Nobody wants to risk a smacking around, cuz
you never know. Even if your Baron is the sweetest tempered Baron in the whole
wide world, he is a big 'n strong man ... sort of. Anyway, he is a man, they
are prone to these things, honest, so you should just shut up and keep the home
oven burning. (Yah yah, women often smack men around too, hooray for equal
opportunity abuse. Those men are reluctant to admit it cuz people make them
feel they are letting the side down: they should be making their women pretend
they are big 'n strong men, not 'allowing' them to get the upper hand
literally.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.corbisimages.com/images/Corbis-42-19699104.jpg?size=67&uid=2aa91738-ba93-4bbf-9dd5-d36a3ece30cc" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://www.corbisimages.com/images/Corbis-42-19699104.jpg?size=67&uid=2aa91738-ba93-4bbf-9dd5-d36a3ece30cc" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.corbisimages.com/stock-photo/royalty-free/42-19699104/pair-of-mens-dress-shoes-tied-together" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Corbis Images</span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Kay, so men are meant to be superior and women inferior 'n we all know
this is not the case and it makes all of us uncomfortable and scratchy. Women
cannot resist having a li'l go: <i>Gah, you think you are Mr. Big? I will
tie your shoelaces together, 'n have a larf when you trip over on your way out
the door - although not in front of the neighbour cuz that would expose you too
much 'n you might lose it 'n smack me around</i>. Men are uncomfortable and overly
asserting themselves and showing off their bigness 'n strongness in strange
ways: <i>Ha ha, look at this sports car I bought
instead of getting the wife a new vacuum cleaner, she can take the old vacuum
cleaner down the repair shop - but not in my sports car for God's sake! I will
put a younger blonde version of my wife in the front seat of the sports car, 'n
that will so show you how big n' strong 'n handsome 'n clever I am - 'cept
don't tell my wife cuz she ties my shoelaces, I could not acksherly live
without her</i>. 'N the wife knows about the blonde but she also knows that her Baron
could not live without her, so she has existential purpose in life and
continues to give him existential purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lacan puts it this way. Men are the phallus. Women have the phallus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.brunosbakery.je/assets/Uploads/_resampled/resizedimage260201-Strawberry-Cream-Slice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="154" src="http://www.brunosbakery.je/assets/Uploads/_resampled/resizedimage260201-Strawberry-Cream-Slice.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">To <a href="http://www.brunosbakery.je/cream-filling/" target="_blank">order online</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">LOL, what a tease! Ha ha ha! that is so smart: you can be the phallus,
or you can hold it. You cannot do both, we are not talking cakes here. (Anyone
who thinks you cannot have your cake and eat it has not seen what a MILF can do
with a cream cake <snerk>.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Men are nervous about women having the phallus. Cuz having the phallus
is being in control, reely. It is like having knowledge. If you say:
"Stuff this for a game. I am sick to the eyeballs of tying shoelaces, I am
off," then you can prolly get along fine on your own cuz you know how to
do things for yourself as well as for someone-else. But if you just are, and
there is nobody to hold you, how can you know you are? How can you be sure you
acksherly exist. So you will be ve-e-ery touchy anxious if it looks like the
one who holds you together and knows you are hollow inside but doesn't tell
anyone, shows signs of going off to hold someone-else together or even worse, says
men are all hollow inside ‘n she has decided to hold just herself instead. Cuz Gollygosh!
if you are wondering whether men are all hollow inside, useless ‘n redundant,
that does zero for your existential angst about whether <a href="http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_if.htm" target="_blank">you are a Man, my son</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well why bother? Why not say: “OK, I give up. Teach me to tie shoelaces,
sometimes I will tie your shoelaces, baby you can drive my sports car, I will
help you to work, you help me to work, we will be equals running through the
fields together - we can effing do it sideways if you want, like in Ken Russell's
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women_in_Love_(film)" target="_blank">Women in Love</a>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/86/dd/e3/86dde3aa29bce581b4e8e04420cb32ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/86/dd/e3/86dde3aa29bce581b4e8e04420cb32ed.jpg" width="131" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From <a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/86/dd/e3/86dde3aa29bce581b4e8e04420cb32ed.jpg" target="_blank">Victorian Charm</a><br />on Pnterest</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is all about Desire. Doing things equally and being equally powerful
and the same and both being able to tie your own shoelaces is practical but it
is not sexy. Think about just being alone tying your shoelaces. Is that sexy?
What about having someone-else tie your shoelaces. Or tying someone-else’s
shoelace. Think about inserting the lace in the holes, each one, maybe making a
beautiful neat crossed pattern. All the way up my patent leather thigh high
boot, ‘n make sure you lick as you go or I will kick you in the chest with my
four inch stiletto heel (OK, if you pay extra I will do that anyway,
<snerk>.) Think again about just quickly tying up your own trainer to go
out to work. Well, I will not ask you which one you are going to choose cuz
your wife might be looking over your shoulder (wink). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is all about Desire and the Sexual Economy. (<a href="http://www.neiu.edu/~circill/mihic/zhon193/trafficin.pdf" target="_blank">Gayle Rubin</a> is good on
this – ‘n that was just an undergrad essay! Yah yah, she wrote it as an
undergrad piece of work.) See, if you have something different then we can get
a li’l exchange going. <i>Ooh, I will give
you my boot to lace up ‘n you will lick it ‘n there will be a li’l bit extra
going on in the exchange for both of us, what a thrill</i>. Whereas if you are
the same, what are you going to exchange to make things go tingalingaling? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://russiatrek.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/soviet-space-program-propaganda-poster-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="103" src="http://russiatrek.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/soviet-space-program-propaganda-poster-17.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://russiatrek.org/blog/art/propaganda-posters-of-soviet-space-program-part-2/" target="_blank">Russia Trek</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To make tension and sexiness, we like to be different, especially if
there is a spark because we are having a play with power. Men find it sexy to
go, "C'mere li'l thing, I will put my big strong arm around you and you
will be safe (from other men)". Women find it sexy to go: "Oooh, you
are so strong! (Just lift that vacuum cleaner up the stairs for me,
then.)" How will we experience Desire if we are all striding ahead like
cleancut figures in a communist propaganda poster? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yah, there has to be a way, LOL. We will find it, sweet things. Cuz this
way we have now is not efficient, is it? And not reeely that much fun, either.
Never mind. Have a cup of cocoa, a sugar biscuit 'n check the kitten pix 'n you
will feel better. We could play at the thigh high boot lacing in a sub/Dom way.
That would at least be acknowledging the power we have is delusory ‘n just a
bit of fun. Then we can go out the bedroom and tie up each other’s trainer
laces while we share out the housework ‘n the paid work equitably. It’s not
perfect but it will do. ‘N if you do not do it to me, I will not tie your
trainer laces together so you fall over in front of the neighbour, pinky
promise (wink). (Um y'unnerstand, I very very rarely wear trainers! but I will not tie up your laces if you swear you will never ever attempt to wear my kitten heeled slingbacks cuz that will mean death, sweet thing, capiche?) </span></div>
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