An attack of sheepishness.
I am still too embarrassed about yesterday's post to say anything but that I am too embarrassed to say anything. If you see where I am going, round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.
I am too sheepish to write a post today or maybe ever again.
So it is up to you. Today's blog post is entitled "Seamonkeys on Ice star has unfortunate peanut butter incident while on pool noodle. Far away from any actual pool".
I shall leave the actual content to your luscious and fertile imaginations while I continue to do my ostrich impression indefinitely.
This garbled nonsense was written in a low-blood pressure haze* of half-fainting and shaking like a mexican bean on the train, so it may not be entirely lucid, but this is what you have come to expect from this blog I am sure, and nothing less. Someone pass me an urgent cookie before I pass out. A lackadaisical cookie will just not do.
*much like yesterday's post was written in a haze of love-sick vomit, which I am still trying to get out of the chaise longue.
Only I don't own a chaise longue. If I knew what one was, chances are I still wouldn't own one. It sounds a bit kinky, in a French negligé kind of way. There shall be no chaising of longue in my boudoir, merci beaucoup.
