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Just My Bloody Luck!

Cool policecar.

Image via Wikipedia

Oooohhh! *Tiny squeals* I must tell you about my latest encounter with a member of the opposite sex!

Last night, around midnight,  I took the dog for his bedtime walk. And guess what, peeps? I was kerb-crawled!  By an officer of the law, no less!

Now, whenever I see a policeman, two things simultaneously flash through my mind:
Oh, God! What have I done? What have I done? I feel so guilty! What have I done?
and,
Corr! A bloke in a uniform! I wonder if he’d let me play with his truncheon…

It’s not my fault. I don’t get out much.

‘Evening, love.’

‘Hello! Just walking my dog!  And look! I’ve got pooper-scooper bags – I never just let him dump in public, you know! Oh no, ‘cos that’s against the law! Has somebody complained? Is that why you’re here? Ohmygod! Are you gonna arrest me? Don’t arrest me! I’m a single mum! I’ve a child at home, asleep, and there’s nobody else to look after him!’

(You probably didn’t notice, but I put a slight emphasis on the fact I’m single…)

‘Oh well, at least you’ve got the dog for company.’

Yes. Thank-you for that.

‘Just walked up Fore Street, have you?’

‘No! Not me! I live in Pauper’s Alley! Why? Is there dog doop all over the road down there, then? It wasn’t me, honestly! Well, of course it wasn’t me! But it wasn’t my dog, either! Honestly!’

‘I’ve just had a call about a disturbance outside the pub. Were you in there, at all?’

I looked down at my fuchsia dressing gown and baby-pink I Love to Sleep pj’s, and shook my head. ‘Nope! Even I don’t go for a pint,  dressed in pyjamas.’

‘So, you didn’t hear raised voices? See anyone fighting?’

‘No. So you don’t wanna arrest me, then? Are you sure? My son’s fifteen. I’m sure he’d be okay on his own for a while…’

‘Well, I suppose I could take you in for public indecency. That dressing gown’s a shocking colour…’

‘Oooh! Yes, please! Would I get to wear handcuffs?’

Just then another call came through on the radio. Something about an argument at the other end of the village. Can you believe my luck?

He was chuckling as he drove off, and I was standing there, wailing ‘Come back! I’m the public! You’re supposed to serve me!’

Stylized arrest.

Image via Wikipedia

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Strange men and dogs…

I’ve never been lucky in love. Or raffles. Or even those hook-a-duck games at the fair. The little bastards see me standing there, poised with a  pole, and paddle frantically to the other end of the pond, smug ducky smiles on their smug ducky faces. I did win a goldfish once, though. It was deformed. And it died on the way home on the bus. It wasn’t my fault; I’d popped him on the seat while I buried my face in baby-pink candy floss, and the next thing I knew,  this mammoth-sized woman had sat on him! Well, the bag burst. Water spurted. I squealed.  She shrieked. The bus driver stood on the brakes. We all shot forward, and the silly cow got herself wedged in the seat. By the time we’d fished him out, poor Goldie was cooked. And flattened. She really was a big woman.

Anyway, I’ve digressed, slightly. Where was I? Oh, yes –  unlucky in love. You’ve heard of Iron Man? Well, I’m Electromagetic-Wave-Woman. It’s like I have this invisible transmitter stuck to my head, giving out radio waves audible only to strange men and dogs. It’s a right pain in the bottom. Whenever I meet a bloke I fancy, one of two things happen; either he’ll grimace and start making vomiting  noises, or he’ll give me the come-on. Fairly standard stuff so far, right? Well, if he dashes for the loo, I immediately know he’s a decent bloke with no particular hang-ups. But that doesn’t help me score ‘cos he finds me repulsive. But, on the other hand, if he likes me and starts doing the old Dating Disco Dance, then I know, with an absolute certainty, that the poor guy’s completely fucked in the head.

And then we have the dogs. Whether they’re big, small, shaggy, furry, friendly or grizzly, they pounce, they play, they wag their butts. They grin and slobber, offer up paws and cuddly toys and licks and cuddles, and all the time, wearing those daft, soppy, doggy looks of blissed-out adoration.

I’m telling you,  strange men and dogs –  they bloody well luff me.

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sis/88844769/sizes/s/in/photostream/

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