Thursday, 17 September 2009
Bit of this
He swoops low over the fields, scattering pigeons, arcing up to speed away. Exerting his buzardness and lording it over all he surveys.
A mother should not buy underwear for a son's birthday. This I know and choose to ignore, as the vision of him sat on his new sofa, after ditching work cloths, in nothing but his ancient undies springs to mind.
The copper is whipped out pulling my chin and neck into line. Fingers massage my shoulders and he makes me 2 toe rings "to aid sleep". For 4 blissful hours I have limited pain.
Bit of that