Some find snails to be such a pain in the wotsy this time of year. Thank los heavens for a completely concrete backyard.
As you know, the funking up of the Signor Seriousimo Spectacular is an ongoing quest, and possibly one without pay-off or end. Pleased to report we’ve made some progress on the shirt-tails front for weekends: they are no longer tucked in. Yay! Met Ball here we come.
Spied this for him. Might be just the catalyst for change he needs, and should go some way toward hiding the high-riding trews on Saturdays and Sundays when the shirt tails disappear into the waistband. As you well know, La refuses to be seen in the company of Harry Highpants.
That said, this is a famous menswear designer whose name I’ve forgotten. Think you’ll agree he conveys an impression of style and success. And he’s an out-and-proud Harry Highdacks. So maybe Seriousimo’s onto something and La needs to do what’s known in the wife trade as Lay Off.
When this heart-starter arrived, the Male Junior Cost Centre — gutted — shot me a look and asked plaintively, “Doesn’t he know you’re married?” Oh, if only the two — my improved appearance in said sparklepiece and this crema love-heart — were connected.
Stepped through a wrinkle in the space-time continuum recently and ended up here…
…to buy one of these:
Shocked? Me too.
Got diverted by the “Norms”.
And the “baby Jesuses”.
Might need to start praying to them soon for forgiveness. Los neighbours will not be happy about my leaf-blower. Maybe concrete backyards aren’t all they’re cracked up to be and a large crimson snail would make all la difference.