The Name's Tallulah

So I was staggering home from boot camp in my super-attractive exercise pants - not panties, shriiiiieeek - and ratty old t-shirt when ambling along in the other direction was the old man from next door who was, as The Fuehrer would have said, old when Adam was a boy.

"G'day, hazel," he said, doffing his cap. "Been exercising?"

"Yes, Old Boy," I puffed. "I'm a bit worn out."

"Well, good on you; it must be doing you good."

Then, unbelievably, he kind of looked me up and down and made a comment which I immediately blocked from my mind, but was something along the lines of, "I like what I see." Even though my legs felt like lead I was able to sprint to my front door, screaming with horror all the way.

k., when I told her this little anecdote, also screamed but with laughter. "Well," she said. "At least you don't have to worry about being on your own. For the next few months anyway."

She might not want you to know but k has an elderly admirer too, who makes eyes at her in the uni library. We're just a couple of she-devils.