"Ok, now bear with me...but, do either of you two find a sweaty man attractive?" Says J while sipping coffee in my back garden this evening.
"Is he dirty too?" Asks Pootle.
"No."
"Are his clothes dirty, like he has been labouring and toiling over some dirty digging work?" I ask.
"No."
"So just dripping with sweat, nothing else? No dirty clothing, no boots, no big boy van? Just sweat."
"Yes."
Pootle and I look at each and say simultaneously, "no."
"Oh." J is disappointed. "Just me then."
Pootle shrugs, "yep."
"Why the question? Who has been profusely sweating in front of you and why?" I ask, and she explains... "Well that would be why, wouldn't it? You fancy the pants of him anyway...the sweat just enhanced the pheromones."
"I remember calling out my mechanic to have a look at my car once," Pootle explains dreamily, "when he arrived he had been scrambling so was dirtied up to the eyeballs, was sweaty and hot. He got out of his van and I think I may have just given myself to him there and then had he asked."
"In fact," she continues, "I really hope no one was watching me as he pushed himself under the car, cos I actually mouthed OH MY GOD to myself...he was that hot."
"Your car so needs to break down again babe," I tell her.
"It so does...a lot of things need to break down, eh?" She replies.
"Especially if we get a deluge of hot, dirty, sweaty men to assist us with fixing things...eye candy." I agree.
"You know," says J after Pootle has gone home to bed, "I wish I had done a blog of my year of forty like you."
"Well, in theory you have - you are in a lot of it." I tell her.
She shrugs as if to say, true.
"It has been quite a year, hasn't it?" I say.
"Yes, a hell of a year. To be honest, they say that of course life begins at forty...but for you, I think that isn't true."
"Oh?"
"Yes, I think yours will begin at forty-one."
"Really? Maybe that should be the new blog...Life begins at forty one."
J smiles, "Now that, I can't wait to read. I want to know what the ending will be."
Don't we all babe...
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