12 can be a worm when it comes to her dad. She thinks she can get the better of him. She can. Things aren’t quite so plain-sailing with me. I’ve been home more with her, I’m wise to her ways.
Clearly she has decided there IS a way round me. Tonight as she ran pell mell at her father I got up and in her way. If anyone’s going to make his life a misery it’s going to be me. Random acts of wanton violence are not acceptable.
I stood in front of her with the squint-eyed stare of Lee Van Cleef in For a Few Dollars More. All I needed was the Stetson and the cheroot. Oh, and the moustache, mine just isn’t that luxurious.
12 stood in front of me with the determination of a younger, fatter, female Clint Eastwood except instead of going for her gun she dealt her killer blow with a few firm strokes on the bosom.
12 is a groper, she makes Walter Gropius of the Bauhaus look like an amateur.
I, however, refuse to be stroked in to submission by 12 or anyone else. We had stand-off. Then she sighed and came with me in to the living room, her father left safely unmolested. For once.
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© 2011, Penbleth / L. McG.-E.. All rights reserved.
Janet Isserlis - - sigh -
also: gasp