Hey, fancy getting the car fired up for a jaunt?
The Good Lady popped seemingly out of nowhere like a genie with an itchy bahjina.
I put down the scabby painting t-shirt that I was about to change into and made a pickled egg eating face.
Um, I could do. Take her out for a little spin just to clear the pipes as it were?
The idea had some appeal. According to legend, cars like to be taken out for a run to keep them in tip-top condition. My car was a fucking mystery to me so I liked to keep my motor maintenance as basic as could be.
Yes, it would be a short spin.
The Good Lady started curling her hair around a finger and tilted her head at me with a smile that made my man-hammer whinny.
When the Good Lady twirled her hair like that and smiled like that, it could only mean one thing.
Well, two things. It could either mean that she was wanting the barnacles scraped off her old hull with my penis or that she wanted to me to do something heinous and life-threatening in the name of husbandry.
It had to be the first, surely?
I hooked a thumb in my waistband and got ready to wheel my keks off and fling them winsomely at her.
So, you know the Little Lady made her chocolate lollipops yesterday? She wants to give them out to her friends. There are only the four of them. You could take her in the car, couldn't you?
She fluttered her eyelashes.
It would be really quick, sort of.
She breathed through her mouth in that way that asthmatics and sexy women do.
Urm, what about lockdown? We're not really meant to be gadding about? Especially to multiple places.
I sounded fearful and unsure as if a Greek was offering me gyros.
Oh, don't worry about lockdown. You can still social distance and stuff. It's just a little delivery run.
She grinned like one of those tall birds that stand on one leg eating fish.
Don't worry about lockdown? Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one getting sent out to almost certain death.
How could she ask this of me? I mean, with my track record of getting infected and dying from this kind of shit?
I was bound to catch the COVID and die before returning home.
Who would look after the children?
What would become of my beautiful house and garden?
My cats? My sweet beautiful cats? Would they end their days guarding my grave like that fucking idiot of a dog, Greyfriars Bobby?
What would happen to that sassy lady who lived at no 36 that always wore the massive heels and short skirts? Would she wither and die like a flower without water from the lack of stare'y attention from me?
The Good Lady looked out of the window and pointed.
Look, it's really sunny. If you get it done quick we can have some beers in the garden?
I narrowed my eyes.
Garden beers?
Aye, alright then. Back soon.