Wummin', Man?

She had yon dark eyes- two of them. See when a wummin has dark eyes, you can see yourself in them like you were a trout in a midnight pool with a hook in yer mooth. Allure is all about captivation and wance your captured, well, that’s it until the day you’ll wonder why your jaw isnae sore wi’ the hook even still. Such is the wonder with womanhood. The other side of the equation is that you just might rue you ever expressed an interest in the first place. Attraction is just so arbitrary.

I was lucky to suffer such an aching longing for Carol Vorderman, the former Countdown number-cruncher. Nae way I was ever gonna meet her by the way. The curvy delicious wis inaccessible to me and it was as well to both of us. I wis a nae good waster fae Carmyle and she was a glamourous hostess fae Channel 4. There was very little in it for her except, of course, the utter animal lust of the thing, me being hung like a decent-sized pit pony and having a twenty-five percent discount on my Council Tax (she could even have helped totting my bills up!)

Mind you, I did bump into a couple of Page 3 glamourites wan time, aw big tits and perfume. I shared a lift with them in the Mirror building as I was attempting to collect tax from their big sweaty boss who later flung himself aff a boat off Tenerife. Christ! The fumes from their bodily powders near had my eyes streaming, either that or it was my post-juvenile lust blinding me. Three floors up and by the time we’d reached the top my senses were scrambled. Me in my raincoat tae, I must have looked like Frank Spencer wi’ the horn.

Wummin’, man! Whit wid ye dae wi’ thum?