Day 336: Golf Balls
Poor V——. Every time I tell this story, it makes his bits hurt. But it is such a good story, and good stories demand telling. I've told B——. I may have had a small audience for a telling at work. There will possibly be questions (or pained sideways glances) next time you are in my love, sorry about that. And now I am going to make it last in perpetuity by publishing it on the Internet.
List_Addict Irene
We were driving to the coast. Mr Darby Pickles' microchip is still not transferred to my details, but 'dang it' thought we, we are going to take him for a leash-free run on Fairhaven Beach and see how he goes. It's a good hour and a bit drive and at about forty-five minutes someone, not naming any names, or going with the usual assumption that everything naughty comes from Darby and not Lollii, but someone, in the back seat, starting farting. Farting with a vileness not known outside of Hell. V—— pulled into a side street and I took the little people for a relief walk. V—— got out his golfstick club, tee and balls—any excuse to whack golf balls into paddocks. When I returned with the dogs I found V—— putting away the clubs, and, strangely, completely covered in dust and grassy bits. What happened?
Apparently a decent whack of the ball had ended in a lacklustre shot and given the ball was just on the other side of the fence, my wise loved one decided to climb the fence and retrieve it. He tested the wires. All okay. And then swung one leg over. Obviously the fence was on a pulsing electric current. And obviously the current slyly waited for the leg-either-side, sensitive-area-in-contact moment to pass by V——'s location. Poor fella! Golf balls have a price, but I don't think this is it. Mind you, I think I owe him a bag of balls for the value telling this story has given me. Makes me laugh. (Sorry.)
The Outfit
Dress: ModCloth
Coat: Op-shopped
Belt: Op-shopped
Necklace: Retail
Shoes: Irregular Choice 'Felt Attack'
Photographer de Jour: Moi
Doing the link-in love-in today with:
We were driving to the coast. Mr Darby Pickles' microchip is still not transferred to my details, but 'dang it' thought we, we are going to take him for a leash-free run on Fairhaven Beach and see how he goes. It's a good hour and a bit drive and at about forty-five minutes someone, not naming any names, or going with the usual assumption that everything naughty comes from Darby and not Lollii, but someone, in the back seat, starting farting. Farting with a vileness not known outside of Hell. V—— pulled into a side street and I took the little people for a relief walk. V—— got out his golf
Apparently a decent whack of the ball had ended in a lacklustre shot and given the ball was just on the other side of the fence, my wise loved one decided to climb the fence and retrieve it. He tested the wires. All okay. And then swung one leg over. Obviously the fence was on a pulsing electric current. And obviously the current slyly waited for the leg-either-side, sensitive-area-in-contact moment to pass by V——'s location. Poor fella! Golf balls have a price, but I don't think this is it. Mind you, I think I owe him a bag of balls for the value telling this story has given me. Makes me laugh. (Sorry.)
Who Wore It Better?
Doing the link-in love-in today with:
Eeek! Too bad you didn't get to view it all. Not that I'm cruel like that, but I'm sure it would have been quite the sight.
ReplyDeletebisous
Suzanne
BTW I'm friggin' in love with this dress!!!
ReplyDeletebisous
Suzanne
List Addict get's my vote on this one for sure. :) Fun statement dress...and shoes and accessories! :) Hope you'll get the courage to put on those white jeans soon!
ReplyDeleteOn the Daily Express