My current partner thinks it's acceptable to go to the supermarket on a Sunday morning wearing a fur coat, leopardskin bra, split-crotch panties and a pink lycra boob tube. I wouldn't mind so much but pink does nothing for him.
"Considering I have endeavoured to make his life a misery for the last
twenty years, I find it hard to believe this heady behaviour is aimed at
me. How can I change that annoyingly joyful grin back to a haunted
Times are hard in our household and our pensions barely keep us in Readers Digests and slankets.
"Is there any way I can erase her memory without causing terrible brain damage?"
"Do you think it's too forthright to make a grab for his cock and balls in the staff canteen?"
I introduced the idea of wife swapping at our last neighbourhood watch meeting, but it didn't go down too well.
For all you know, he's been collecting dried dog turds, or playing with his pee-pee.
Although the recent English riots didn't extend as far as our town, I fear that I have played my own shameful part in the civil unrest and have been wrestling with my conscience ever since.