In the buff

So there I was shooting a christening a little while ago. We don’t get so many christenings, in fact we’ve only had the one so it was a bit of an event in itself.

As all the action happens so much earlier in the day than it does at your average wedding the guests were on the beer so much earlier – and it was showing.

One lairy young chap on his third can of ‘wife beater’  was watching me work and then decided to show off a bit to his friends.

He’d obviously made a few deductions in his head, middle aged woman, shooting a christening? Fair game for a laugh.  He thought he’d have a bit of fun at my expense.

“Here, love. Do ya do noods?” he asked tongue in cheek and leering and expecting me to blush and get all dithery.

Well, dear reader, can you hear those tables creaking as they turn?

“Yes, indeed I do do nudes”, I said. ” Are you interested in modelling for me?  You look, as they say in modern terminologly, quite buff, although in my day ‘buff’ meant a dull shade of off white.”

His mouth fell open.  I continued.

” I do like to get my hands on new male  models as often as possible. You know, fresh meat and all that.”

Now when I say ‘get my hands on’ I  do mean figuratively not literally, of course. but he didn’t know that.

The poor chap stood, open mouthed for a second before tuning a lovely shade of puce  and trying to make himself invisible as his friends revelled raucously  in his discomfort.  Oh how I love moments like that. They don’t come along anywhere near often enough.

I think the term is ‘touché‘ not ‘got you, you bastid’.

Moving on..

I read a blog called ‘Fridge Soup‘ which I’ve shared snippets from in the past. I never contribute anything to it as it’s populated by people far more intelligent and educated than me.  But it makes me laugh even though half the time I don’t  understand the jokes, I understand the individual words (mostly) but that’s as far as it goes.

They’d probably scare the living daylights out of me if I ever met them.

It would be one of those times when I’d be internally chanting my mantra of “I’m a highly educated and intelligent woman and I won’t get found out….er, I mean I have a right to be here.’

I was reading a post the other day which was quite amsing but as I idly scrolled down the comments I saw this one from Vicki, a writer of mystery stories, you can take a look at her work here

“Oh, and how can I resist adding a story from my college days! An instructor was fond of surprising his students with brief quizzes — which he referred to as ‘quizzies.’As she was handing in her paper after a particularly grueling quiz, a young woman announced loudly, “Well, if that’s one of your quizzies, I’d hate to see one of your testies.”She dropped the class the next day.”


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