My dalliance with Honey Ryder

I just knew that things had to start looking up after my experience with Amanda Peet in my previous blog entry. Last night I swapped bodily fluids with a blonde girl whose sun tan lotion smelt of honey, so I’ll call her Honey Ryder after Ursula Andress in Dr No.

I’m not going to start doing any blow-by-blow accounts of romantic liaisons here as one is a gentlebloke and it’s probably done much better by the masters of the art.

Anyway, the only bodily fluids we exchanged was saliva and I knew that there wasn’t much more on the agenda when I politely asked her if her lady garden matched the hair on her head and she replied that it was “for her to know and for me to fantasise about.”

I thought that was a very clever response from a very cool lady who was wearing one of those summer dresses that instantly give men the horn, and may also make them wish they could wear something a little less restrictive when a heat wave strikes. It always mystifies me how women can wear something that has all sorts of potential to reveal much more than the wearer intends and still keep their decency after drinking a skinful of booze.

Whoops, I shouldn’t have mentioned that she was pissed should I?