The Mexican Arrives.........

         After raising our son I thought it was about time one took some much needed  rest and not do so much housework. So the perfect idea was to engage a houseboy to do all the chores, leaving me to enjoy the pleasures in life. For example, lying on the sun lounger watching a muscled tan God aged around 24, with cut off jeans, his ass hanging out, tending to your bush. Or following one around town, carrying all the shopping his muscles rippling with every new bag acquired.  I hope by now you are getting the picture, why do all the work when you can have something wonderfully sinful to dribble at while they buff up your brass. The idea came to me while watching "The Birdcage"  Agador would be perfect, marvellous to look at and handy with a duster.

How I ended up with a 54 year old ( I question this, personally looking at her which I try not to, she would give Methuselah a run for his title) Mexican that can hardly speak any English, has never seen a duster before ended up being my houseboy is a story which I need to share. Well, the truth is my shrink feels it would be good for me to let off some stream and if I wasn't paying him a fortune I would probably let off stream to the closest item and that is usually the Mexican.

My old mother always said never open the door on a cold rainy night as anything may be on your door step and that was a warning I should have listened to. One pleasure on a Saturday night when the weather is so bad is watching the Russian dancer Artem move his tight, round bubble butt majestically around that dance floor while sipping a glass of Sloe Gin. My mood is gay and frivolous imagining Artem and myself dancing hand in hand when I am rudely interrupted by the Westminster chimes from the front door bell. After rewinding the moment Fern Britton grabs Artem's butt three more times and screaming slut at the television screen I pause and go to the door.

Never open your Front door at night.

What greeted my eyes will be with me for the rest of my life. Standing there was this thing that I think was breathing just, totally drowned in the autumn down pour. Only wearing a pink waterproof mack to protect her from the weather, every inch of her was wet. Down by her side was two plastic carrier bags and she was holding what looked like s soggy wet letter.

 As any descent housewife would have done, I politely said  
"No thank you not today"
and closed the door, went back to the lounge and sat down. After about the fourth round of the Westminster chimes I went back and answered the door. The minute the door was unbolted that woman was in like a ferret up a drain pipe. Standing and dripping all over the parquet flooring she thrusts the letter in my hand and screams

 " You strange boy........ READ" 

    

Well, you can imagine the horror on my face, the last time colour drained that fast, well lets just say I was young, foolish and very attractive. Opening the letter and keeping one eye on the creature who stood before me. Well, you can never be too careful, she was quick getting in and before you can lisp  "Poof"  she could have the family silver down her knickers. The letter was addressed to myself  so I started to read. My stomach was churning and  I could feel the sweat sliding down the side of my face, this piece of soggy paper did not bring good news.

To be continued..................