Spreading wifely bums and Lunch Club.

Yesterday, the usual bunch of old farts were out for some good grub and a fine dose of wife bashing. As usual, we all had our individual tales of woe to tell, but the tale of the day came from our lawyer friend, whose face seemed to be twitching with more anxiety than usual. He was always a trifle downcast anyway, something to do with his saying ‘I do’ apparently, but yesterday more so than usual.

The night before, he and his wife had been sitting down having supper, when he noticed his wife eating an extra slice of bread with her soup. After thirty odd years of marriage (so far, the most I’ve ever managed is five!), you can imagine he knew her eating habits better than his own. Anyway, he remarked quite innocently,’ You’re eating a lot tonight, dear’. Well, did he just!

Up she leapt, ‘Are you saying I’m fat!’ She shrieked. ‘Are you? Are you? How dare you, you bastard. I’m not fat! I’m not!’ She then dashed to the kitchen sink and tipped the rest of her soup down the drain.

Well as you can imagine, he was slightly taken aback by this sudden outburst, and what he perceived as a thoroughly intemperate reaction, I mean throwing her supper down the drain, no need for that was there? But as he said, ‘Jesus boys, imagine if I’d said her rear-end was spreading faster than a cow pat hitting the pavement at Mac 2?! I wouldn’t be sitting here now, I can tell you. She would have bloody well knifed me!’

Now, for all you young ‘uns out there be warned. When women reach the sagging years of milfhood, for God’s sake never, never say anything about their weight or God forbid that their backsides are spreading uncontrollably – so, read and learn young ‘uns. It’s all true believe me. Ask any middle-aged man who’s been coping with the insanity of female kind for a good few years and he’ll confirm every word.

JR

PS And don’t forget my latest novel is out in September, The Bent Brief. Refined hanky-panky, loving lezzies, murder, a nail-biting trial and a good dose of chauvinistic offence for good measure – just to keep the feminists happy! Nothing like my previous stuff.

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