Up with the lark well a coffing sparrow to whip off to the crem. Checking that nannys entry in the book of remembrance is as it should be and all is well. I am nervous how people will take the epithet "I did it my way" but she did. Home then off to the gym I have to pack my bag, I confess that jean deals with most matters laundry except soilng. That's where I come in. Anyway lack of practice concentration and cack handedness conspire to cock things up. I get to the gym for a reduced length workout but I enjoy it and try to remember the +ive effects of endorphins. Then the best bit the shower I love it the warm glow feels good. Then chaos strikes I start to get dressed and curse that I have cocked up on the underwear front. Sure two pairs of socks is a bonus but not at the expense of underpants. I even try to cunningly fashion something out of the socks, first thought is a sumo nappy affair. No luck then its what JK would call a g-rope. No good, so at the tender age of 44 its "commando" for me. I don't like it at all not a jot. Having to remember to check my fly every ws millisecs is a pain. I think that my new underwear status is a publically obvious fact. It doesn't add much to the comfort factor.
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