You'll be pleased to hear they aren't the remains of a recent perma-tanned, wannabe Romeo that I had the misfortune to date, although had I owned a shotgun on that occasion I may well have used it....but the remains of the slug colony that Mr. Dyson murdered on my instructions yesterday.Due to their rather disconcerting colour, they also remind me of the episode concerning Mr. Socks.Have I told you about him....?
Mr. Socks is someone I've known for some time; he dated an acquaintance of mine many years ago (she married someone else, when he wouldn't commit! Red flags should have been waving madly at this juncture!).However, I bumped into him again only recently, having always thought him to be horribly handsome. After a few glasses of wine, he seemed irresistible...perfect even.
Yes, for a few dates, I considered Mr. Socks perfect...in a matching socks and pants kind of way. From the way his neatly manicured hands removed, folded and carefully placed his socks (that matched his jumpers) on the table, before getting into bed, I suspected he was not the sort of man whose washing machine ever produced odd socks or, for that matter, the sort of man who spontaneity came easily too. Wild uninhibited sex would clearly be out of the question!
Mmmm......lucky for him, life as he knew it, was about to get a whole lot more exciting. I was convinced I might even have him wearing odd socks after a few more dates, or at least socks that didn't match his jumpers! Sadly, it was not to be; whilst we did meet a few more times, I decided that despite his gleaming white veneers, seemingly year-round tan, and orange sock collection that, as it generally took him 2 days to return my calls, he was hardly that in to me, so called time. I am not in the business of chasing men, who are more interested in their golf clubs than me, these days...
Another date like that and the rest of the slugs will get it! Mr. Dyson still has his uses....
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