Right. The country is so deep in the hole that Cambridge and Imperial are having to invent new orders of magnitude to describe it…
Fuck it. I’m off to have a wank and after seeing this you might be too…
The underwear perplexes me. Women’s “intimates” always do. I’d love my wife to wear such stuff but I know it would be a bloody defence contract and I’d have to sell at least one kidney (have you ever looked into the modern price of corsetry? – I have). If I go to Tesco and buy mince then I pay by weight. If I go to Primark and buy knickers (I do not do this BTW) then I can get three “granny knickers” for a quid and a dry slap from the missus. If I go to Selfridges or Harvey Nicks then it’s sold by inverse mass* and I pay a surreal amount of money but do get a blowjob.
At some point I shall inevitably pay a transfinite number of pounds for something that weighs less than a neutrino. God knows what I’ll get for that.
But I’m OK with that. I see the point because underwear is fundamentally about the taking off rather than the putting on.
Did I mention it’s NSFW? I no longer care. I mean Dita keeps some form of thong on which is for me, quite frankly, a dissapointment.
*This actually has an advantage. Gifts pretty much by definition have to be hidden until revealed. Classy ladies private wear can be very easily hidden (and I mean really hidden in the sense that they don’t even know you bought it) whereas if you’re Richard Timney then you’re phoning the hippo house at Whipsnade for advice and then asking for estimates from Harland and Wolff and General Dynamics. No wonder the poor (non) fucker ended-up bashing his bishop to Channel X.