Two days have now passed and I feel a bit better about Stampy, as I’m convinced that he’s flown to a place where the staples are twelve karat gold and never run out. Meanwhile, several kilometres below stationary heaven, I'm still waiting for my own stamp of approval. Last night I pushed the odds by venturing out to a local RSL that had gone Germanic for Octoberfest, but there was fierce competition for the few decent specimens, and I was distinctly disadvantaged by not being dressed as a beer wench.Apparently ordinary wenches need not apply.
I could hire a costume next year and have absolutely no troubles filling out the top half, but it’s my ability to expand the bottom half at an even better ratio that could hurt my yeast-fuelled chances. What I really need to come up with is that ‘no sweat no diet exercise’ routine which reduces my caboose but leaves the puppies.
Ms too-much-bounce-to-be-fabulous M.
