soliciting

the peeps were having an interesting conversation the other night. my boy was holding forth.

"i think prostitutes are awful!" he cried, presumably after seeing something on telly.

"oh lovey," said herself, "you must stop coming out with these huge generalisations!" the peeps went on to explain that they had known more than the average number of prostitutes. herself used to work in a pub frequented by such ladies and got to know them pretty well. she formed the view that, rather than being ladies of loose morals, they were in fact quite a lot more moral than the rest of the customers. herself thought this was because their line of work had made them examine their morals more than some jobs might.

himself went on to explain that when they were first together, he and herself lived in a basement flat in the centre of town. this was herself's flat that she had bought when she moved down from london. not long after she moved in, herself discovered that she was the only lady living in the row of basement flats who did not, as it were, work from home. all the other ladies were in the sex business. herself perfected a fine line when opening the door to hopeful men. she used to say "i'm not that sort of solicitor!" before closing it firmly in their face. my american readers will be familiar with signs saying 'no solicitors' which caused herself much puzzlement when she first went to the usa.

the next door neighbour was a lovely lady called sue. she had very very long legs, a very very short skirt and unusually blond hair. she was a strict vegan. she often said "i'll do rubber but i will NOT do leather!" if herself had cause to pop round to sue's with a parcel the postman had left the door would be answered by sue in a yellow tutu or a very short school uniform. sue had 7 dogs, a motley crew who she had rescued. i bet those chaps could tell you a thing or two about the unusual habits of mankind! the thought of the poor punters performing in front of 7 sets of canine eyes makes me chuckle.

anyway, my boy mellowed a bit in his damnation of sex workers after hearing about the nice neighbour. conversation turned to the economy drive and whether my boy could set up a business fixing computers.

"you could make some money out of that!" said herself.

"what, prostitution?" asked my boy, still in a parallel conversation.

"no," said herself, "your teeth are way too crooked!" then having realised this might not sound too good at school, where my peeps brand of humour is not altogether understood, she added the usual rider. the last thing they want in the message book is a note from the teacher saying she has reported them to social services...