C,
Dear God, woman, this time you really have got the wrong end of the stick! The act to which I was referring is not, as you imply, the one favored by all those who extoll the virtues of the love between a boy and an older man. Lord knows, I may have medical problems enough one day without adding incontinence to them.
No, the marital act to which I refer of course involves the liberal use of a hair brush (paddle-side only) and leather, which also explains the oldballandchain’s penchant for jodhpurs of late. Hadn’t you noticed?
Fortunately, I have been able to stave off any advances on this front through the cunning use of culinary distraction. By stuffing the obc to the gills each night with all his favorite nursery food (‘it is your birthday week, after all, darling, and I know how much you loved Nanny’s shepherd’s pie as a child’), I have successfully reduced the man to a snoring, but contented tub o’ lard by ten o’clock each night. The strategy has proved so successful, I am thinking of filing a patent: ‘Ma P.’s secret recipe for a restorative night’s beauty sleep – every night of the week.’
What do you think?
Faithfully,
P.
