Tampons Are My Future?

It seems that Laura Ashley, our local crazy lady, has precognitive abilities. You may recall that she's been known to slip things into your basket when you're not looking. Now, as much as I like things slipped into my basket - ahem - when we're talking about WD40 and tampons in the local shop I'm not so keen.

Wednesday night was a very important night for The Boyf, hence that morning his car wouldn't start, as is the way of the world. He phoned me at work in a panic, but I did my best boyfriend-calming thing - "For fuck's sake stop panicking, you drama queen. I'll fix the car when I come home. Breathe dammit, breathe!". I'm so sympathetic.

After work I diligently set to work under the bonnet, and diagnosed a jammed starter motor.

I would like to interject here that ALL of my friends are completely taken by surprise when they find out I'm actually pretty good under the bonnet of a car. Most gay men seem to have trouble just finding out where to put petrol in, but I grew up with a mechanic for a Dad, who used to push me underneath cars because I was small enough to fit. Hence, I know how they work.

So, there I am, doing my manly bit under the bonnet, covered in grease. If the tables had been turned I'd have been totally turned on by the site of a greasy man, but The Boyf prefers guys in suits so instead he was hovering around making nervous clucking noises. The word "late" kept making an appearance too, so I forced him back inside to get himself ready.

I won't bore you with all the technical mumbo-jumbo, but once I'd freed the offending mechanical item I decided to give everything a good spray with a lubricant. Hmmm, what to use, what to use.... Ah, WD40!

So you see, Laura Ashley obviously knew in advance that I was going to need it. The trouble is that I'm now really worried about what I'm going to need the tampons for. I shudder to think.