Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Wednesday 6 October 2010

My partner thinks I haven't seen them.  But I have.

I saw them when she carried them out of our New Teal Megane.  I am not impressed.  Take a look for yourself:

The daft girl bought ones that are too small for me as well, so I am (she thinks) to wear two napkins fastened together (until the above pack runs out) in order to facilitate my reintroduction into the world of nocturnal dryness.  She is particularly diverted by the image of two cheeky monkeys on the waist-band.  She tells me that it is "very appropriate".  We shall see about that.

Moving swiftly on, I should like to bark a very BIG thank-you to those who sent messages of sympathy and support after my last blog-post.  They made an incredible difference to the misery under which my partner and I were labouring after the late trying few days and we did sincerely appreciate your kind thoughts.  I send best wishes for a swift recovery to the beautiful maid of the Philippines, lovely Scarlet.

I will admit that a part of my agitation stemmed from the napkins, shown above, about which I was pre-warned by my partner - and I knew not in whom to confide.  Granted, I only have to wear them during my hours of repose, when no eyes save my partner's will fall on my neatly-packaged rump, but I still feel and regret the necessity.  And who remained in my life to supply succour and wise counsel?

  1. My wife, Isolde?  Dead.
  2. My friendly neighbour, Starsky?  Dead.
  3. Staffy-Chum, Harvey?  Not seen in public since the death of Starsky (his best friend).
  4. Principal-Girlfriend, Candy?  Making a rapid recovery, but still convalescing from severe illness.
  5. Female Staffy-Chum, Latté?  Too much of a delicate lady for toilet-talk.
  6. Colourful Rotti-Chum, Edward?  Would descend into immediate panic and flap about like an angry wasp.
  7. New pretty neighbour, Rosie?  Giggles helplessly whenever near me.
  8. Jack-Russell neighbour, Archie?  Always too busy to stop and chat.
  9. Doting partner?  Instigator of napkins in the first place.
  10. Maisie?  In agreement with above creature. Obviously hoodwinked.

 Do you see my predicament now, dear reader?  Do you?
An unexpected sympathetic ear was, however, extended in my direction from the generally-empty head of Ewan, the fluff-brained dog belonging to my partner's colleague.  His basket-mate, Fizzy, snorted with laughter when I mentioned my potential new sleep-attire.
"Blimey, Jazz," she giggled. "You don't mean to say they've actually made the pants to finally take the job on?"
"Fizzy?" I replied, mustering my dignity.
"B*gg*r off."
She trotted off to the corner of the yard, wagging her tail and cackling like an old witch.
"That wasn't very nice, was it Jasper?" said Ewan, sidling up close to me and nuzzling my neck with his snout.  "Ignore her.  She's being mean today.  I think it's nearly 'that time'."
"It's alright, Ewan."  I replied, trying to inch away from his strong, prickly whiskers, which were stabbing sharply into my flesh.  "I don't mind."
Ewan grinned and nodded, but stayed sitting beside me in a companionable silence.  I sighed and, before I knew it, I was telling Ewan everything about my late lavatorial mishaps.  He listened quietly, nodding at the right moments, with neither laughter, mockery nor any mention of cheese whatsoever.  I felt much better after having unburdened myself to a willing listener.  When he was sure I had finished barking, Ewan sighed and said
"When I was before I went to live with mummy, I had to wear nappy-pants on my bottom.  Only mummy taught me properly that toilets were only for outsides." [When Ewan says 'Mummy', he means his partner, my partner's colleague. J.]  That was rather sad, as Ewan had been adopted when he was two years old - his toilet-training must have come as a bit of a shock to him.  "Actually," continued Ewan, after a pause, "I'm still not really sure why toilets must be outside.  Especially when rain is happens."
I nodded, sagely.  Ewan went on "I think it is ladies.  They just doesn't want to clean up our toilets for us.  It's an evil plot."
He chuckled to himself and I'll admit that I grinned too.
Not for the first time (nor, I suspect, for the last), I felt Ewan's friendship to be a rare gift  - a precious blessing which I had done little to deserve.
Next entry: Napkin progress report; will I or won't I have finished my next "Evolution" instalment?; and a kitten-update!
Good night.
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