Dear Lily,
To celebrate my 36th birthday last weekend, I went out for a night with the girls. Dressed in neon lycra from head to toe, I must have created quite the enticing silhouette on the dancefloor while limboing to Britney Spears. Suddenly, I found myself on all fours behind a skip, being vigorously handled from behind by a random intoxicated teenager. Completely oblivious to the fact that I was kneeling in a mix of urine and vomit, I was panting like a heat-stroked spaniel as he finished on my back and stumbled away. Since this fleeting encounter, I’ve developed a rather awkward condition where my tassie is itchier than a vagrant’s arsehole. Could you possibly suggest what might be causing this?
Lily says – Hasn’t your mummy ever told you that boys are dirty, and you should steer clear of them? They are made of frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails. Once, an older boy at my school threw a big dry piece of dog poo at me with a stick, and it got tangled up in my hair – my lovely new princess clip was ruined! I had to get my revenge by telling my mummy that he cornered me in the art cupboard and put the end of his willy in my mouth. Guess what? The very next day he was taken away from school, and mummy says he was sent to a place where he can’t hurt little girls anymore. I feel a tad guilty for fibbing, but I bet he regrets the day he hurled a jobby at me.
Hope that helps!
