Thursday, 17 September 2015

Wild Life

Lately I've been counting the days till Tuesdays. Tuesday is usually the only night in the week that I get to go out. To put the bins out. Those three minutes inhaling the darkness and feeling the damp pavement through my slippers remind me of the nocturnal life that exists beyond my sofa rug.

Yes, Tuesday nights have tided me over pretty effectively these last ten years. But last week, when I realised my bedtime had inched forward to 9.30pm, I wondered whether I should Get Out More.

It's not that I don't live a life of vigour and adventure:





It's just that my fast living usually involves waterproofing and never takes place under cover of darkness. After 16 years of marriage I feel I deserve more.

It was surprisingly easy to arrange the assignation and the church hall seemed to the most convenient place to do it. Unsure of the dress code for untamed nightlife, I borrowed the school shoes my son has grown out of and some sinuous lycra from my daughter.

'Big booty!' exclaimed a voice as I crept into the dimly lit chamber. I was disconcerted when I realised I was required to take my full-length Turpin off before the excitement could begin. At this point I didn't even know their name. Shyly I disrobed. I felt naked out at night without a wheelie bin in my arms.

I'd prepared some small talk, just to break the ice as we got to know each other, but the stranger didn't bother with preliminaries. Down on the floor I was, on all fours, trying to gyrate my behind in rhythm with theirs. I studied the stained parquet on which I'd so recently played church bingo and tried to think of England.

Then they had me up again, thrusting my stiff hips at them and massaging my cotton contours. 'Big, big booty!' cried the voice and I began to worry about bladder control.

By the end of that rendez-vous my thighs throbbed from unaccustomed demands and I was aflame. I think I could acquire a taste for nightlife, but next time I'll leave my thermal vest off  before attempting Zumba!






14 comments:

  1. You are quite the interesting Vicar's wife!

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  2. Told as only you can tell it. Happy to see your post.

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  3. Hilarious. I've missed reading your blog but somethng went wrong with your (or my) feeder and I wasn't getting notices of new posts. I've added you to my blog list again so lets hope it works this time.

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    1. Thank you. I'm sure the problem is my end. I'm technically incompetent. Lovely to hear from you.

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  4. I've missed you, this really made me laugh!

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    1. What a kind thing to say. Come and zumba with me any time!

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  5. Yes, I've missed your posts too.

    I confess I also enjoy putting the wheelie bin out. It's quite sad, really, isn't it? I also like sorting the recycling and putting that out too.

    I've always wanted to try Zumba, but I'm just too... British.

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    1. You must come and join me. I only went because my 12yo begged me and I am the most hung up person in the room, leaking Britishness all over the parquet!

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  6. I'm fairly certain in Canada Zumba doesn't require one to get down on all fours, but then I don't get out much either! Missed your humorous posts!

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    1. I wasn't expecting it either. I'm obviously Canadian at heart.

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  7. Good to see you back even looking like ... Well, ESPECIALLY looking like that! My thighs are still throbbing several weeks after walking up all those hills in Cornwall so I might give Zumba a miss!

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    1. You might like to know that I have since been out and invested £2 in my very own pair of leggings. Also, having caused my 12yo escort pain by being the ONLY person in ankle socks, I've bought a pair of trainer liners. The next zumba picture will knock your - er- socks off!

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