Ghosts

Dearest Frankie,

Lovely to be back.  Motherhood and workeyhood have indeed got in the way, but like a 1990s girlband, I've re-grouped, am back in the lycra and raring to go.

I suggest you make a Mother's Day card for said person. Make it look like a ransom note but then decorate it with bunnies, roses and kittens and it'll confuse the fuck out of her.  See if you can find the 'bunny ears' you described earlier and pop them in for good measure. It'll be like getting a card from Michael Madsden AND Blue Peter.  Worth a thought...

I don't believe in ghosts, but I've seen a lot of the feckers in the last month.  Coming back from the dead like the Sixth Sense.  Or Scooby Doo.

It was doable on Facebook. You didn't have to actually see them, and sometimes it was rather lovely to be reunited with a few.

But in person...

So. What do you do when someone you haven't seen for years is in the room with you? Next to you?  Then you see them again. By accident.  Third time lucky? Who knows? They may disappear once more.

But do you know what. I ain't spooked. In fact. It's ok. It's ok to see people that I may have been fearful of in the past (not good enough / thin enough / happy enough).  I'm not spooked because, as Cheryl says "I'm worth it".  Take me or leave me. Seriously. Enough pussyfooting around. (I've put that in for the dirty readers).

I'm kinda enjoying work too - feeling more in control, more worthy, more like me. That's good. I want to be able to move on from there, when I want to, on my terms.  Sod 'em.

Right. That's enough from the Iron Curtain.

Love you more,

Dobson

PS.  When you see that Justin Timberlake, tell him he left his Oyster Card here last time.

Mommie Dearest

Dear Dobson,

Given your absence I can only postulate that things like work, young children and life in general are all demanding your time – either that or you’ve buggered off to the Maldives for three weeks and kept it from me.  I miss you when you’re not here, and you know how much I hate to talk about myself…

I have decided that tomorrow I will buy a Mother’s Day card for the person in question; always a difficult task for a misomater.  Do I assuage my own feelings of guilt by getting her the prettiest card containing the most genuine message, or do I adopt an insouciant attitude towards the whole thing with a cheap and meaningless token gesture?  Decisions, decisions…

Matricidal fantasies aside, I currently have very little to gripe about.  Your previous advice has been heeded and I am doing my utmost to enjoy whatever time I am able to share with The Man.  I find his company fulfilling in many different ways.  I like him – a lot.

I never thought I’d see the day when Justin Timberlake’s standing in my wank bank was rescinded, but given current levels of gratification his position is now somewhat redundant.  When I mailed him to tell him so he took it badly, but that’s Aquarian ego for you…  He’ll get over me.

Frankie

Señorita

Dear Dobson,

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Despite having accumulated many friends over the years, I have always believed you are the one who knows me best.  You may view this as a blessing or a curse, but from my perspective I definitely see it as the former.  If you were within arms’ reach right now, I would grab you in a headlock and reiterate how much ‘I love you, you little fecker’.  

Admittedly, you might shy away from such overt physicality given that I am full of Penis Grigio and spicy food.  I’m also having a Justin Timberlake half-hour on YouTube (an homage to your previous blog title), so there are many ways this scenario could play out...

‘Normal’ life has resumed and, as a result of this, I am currently seeking solace in the fact that Justin is going to “have me naked by the end of this song...”  My boys have returned home and my time with The Man is over until next week at the earliest.  It’s difficult to postpone desire; not only the lust driven brand of desire, but also the kind that leaves you wanting more time to simply be with the person in question, even if you’re only lying au naturel discussing 1970s TV theme tunes.

In part, I suppose sating those lust driven yearnings is where a vibrator comes in handy, though I will always maintain there's nothing like the real thing baby...

In the five years since splitting with my charming ex-husband I have managed to work my way through two vibrators.  My third is serving me well.  The first one frustratingly died on me mid-session, never to be revived despite spending a fortune on new batteries...  RIP #1.  The second death was a much more distressing affair.  I had settled down for a mid-afternoon wank and all was going well until I felt an obvious change in sensation; I paused and looked down between my legs where I spied two small pieces of pink ‘flesh’ lying on the bed sheets.  My initial and rather anguished thought was that my labia had fallen off, luckily however, what was actually lying on the bed were the two pink ‘bunny ears’ and not bits of me...  RIP #2.

I think it’s time to go and commend #3 for a job well done, alongside which, Justin’s going to “give me his heat”.  I look forward to that.

Frankie