three scenarios

Reading the posts, I can see it's a regular battle for many T-girls to hang onto their identities. How often do uncertain gurls fill up a black bag with all their T-clobber and lob it into the skip only to rush out a day later to the local lingerie shop and re-stock their T-cupboards at great expense? Sigh. It's so sad.

Here's my advice. If you can say 'YES, that's ME' to the following three scenarios, then you really have to stop fighting yourself and get with the T-programme.

Scenario one: without fail, whenever you make love to a GG you imagine that you're the one being penetrated. You're riding a big hard horn, it's deep within you and you're luvvin' it like a bitch - never mind that the horn belongs to you!!!

Scenario two: you suffer from peculiar bursts of hots and colds and cry much too much for a man-thing. That's the hormones raging, deary. When you stop battling and accept yourself, the tears will all but dry up. Which is good, yeah! They cause such terrible bags under the eyes...

Scenario three: sometimes, at a club or party, a man thing will stroll by exuding a rich cloud of pheremones and, without warning, you go weak at the knees and your tummy starts trembling. Of course, you blame it on a spot of Mumbai tummy. But you don't fool me, girlie! I can pick out a T-girl from a crowded line up with just a glance. Admit it. You fancy the pants off him!!

C'mon all you undecided. Life is pain. No-one understands us. But for heavens sake, if you're T don't fight it!

another ferrero rocher squashed by a runaway truck

I know this may sound arrogant, particularly to some GGs, but if things had turned out just a little differently I could have made a fabulous and utterly adorable wife for a man-thing.

I may be crap at fixing cars, putting up shelves and identifying football teams (admittedly stuff a modern lager swilling gurl needs to know) but I am, dare I say it, an accomplished cook, a fairly talented interior designer and know just enough about horses and hockey sticks to get by. Most importantly, I know how to play the perfect hostess and make a party go with a 'swing swing boom boom'.

I can listen to man-things for hours on end without showing the least trace of boredom and I also know how to flatter and make them laugh!

But I'm not talking about settling down with Terry or Fred into a miserable grey little council estate in the back end of London.. no, no, no, gurls. I'd have to aim a little higher for it to work.. at least an ambassador if not a euro lottery winner!!

return to a dying planet

Wow.. the last few months have been all about living rather than blogging. No much time to sit and type idle thoughts or deliver my T-rap.. just been updating my Flickr site and that's time consuming enuf.
Soooooo.. soon as I get a minute there's lots of fun and horror stories to relate. I'm one of THOSE gurls.. by which I mean, crazy and scary things just seem to happen to me. Eeeeeeeek!