|Didn't know they came in pink|
My mind's full. A post? Practice Santa Lucia? (Too noisy; too early.) More novel? (Lindsay's becoming cruel and it's unexpected; she's being nasty to Jenson; poor Jenson - revealed as just a salesman.) A short story? (It's been ages.)
But no. Yesterday - when, I can't remember - I read some fiction - can't think of the book title. Americans boasting about their bidet. Weird. Bidets are so French and it's traditional for Americans to think of the French as unhygienic.
"If we had the space," I ask VR, "should we install a bidet?"
From deep in her Kindle VR surfaces. "Perhaps. If I knew exactly what the French used them for."
A memory, sixty-five years old. Paris; too much rich food; an embarrassing moment on the pavement (US: sidewalk); the bidet back in the hotel answers. After which an adventure, already posted.
A bidet of our own! If visitors asked, how would I explain? I am not known for my hygiene; with age it’s less important. Am I now boasting? In a crabby Brit-type way?
OK! A post it is! Quod erat demonstrandum.
Hardline Hope, a novel (14,488 words)
Dear Piet, healthy yet timid. When he allowed himself to kiss her it was clear there would be no further progress this side of the marital bed. Lindsay wondered whether this was the result of being brought up within the Dutch Reformed church. But no the DR was regarded as progressive and had pronounced publicly in favour of same-sex marriages. Eventually Piet’s restraint became a mild form of obsession with her and she prolonged their affair... convinced (she)... would finally winkle out Eros.