Three smashed wine glasses, a large tear in my favourite dress and a broken toilet seat– this is the body count in my hellish week of destruction. For some reason my digits have become so buttery you could spread them on toast and nosh on it with a nice cup of tea. Schisser.

Not that my recent clumsiness is in any way relevant, (or indeed remotely interesting) to you, but I tell you these things to aid your understanding of where my thinking behind this weeks blog stems.

Several years ago I started to enjoy a rather passionate relationship with a man of large stature – as you should all know by now, my preference for a gent of significant size is no passing phase, so this may not surprise you. However, this man was more than a little large. Stood next to him I looked as if I’d put myself in a boil wash and shrunk to the size of a Barbie doll.

As you can imagine I was initially delighted about this joining of minds (and loins) as in addition to his garage door build he was super hot potatoes and as funny as a banana skin atop a flight of stairs. What a package. So I of course took every given opportunity to drag said boy back to my flat for a bit of ‘wriggle action’.

What I hadn’t bargained on was the immense clumsiness that resulted from his size. He bowled around my home like a contestant in ‘It’s a Knockout’. Not a date went by without him smashing his toe on the table, or knocking his head into the light fitting. Idiot.

The first few times he broke something I found it hilarious. Even when he knocked over a vase given to me by my long-dead grandmother I had to see the funny side – after all, we were mid-coitus and he had just swung me around into a fascinating new position, it just so happened his gigantic claw of a foot clipped the edge of its glassy surface as he flipped me!

There came a point however, when enough was enough, the laughs became less and less hearty with every treasured item he broke. Finally one Sunday afternoon, he walked across my living room, naked as a baby, caught his toe under my rug (floor rug that is – just to be clear!) and went hurtling head first into my fish tank. It exploded under the thwack of his massive swede and deposited several litres of water, five somewhat terrified fish and a great deal of glass onto his crumpled figure. Needless to say I went into a state of panic! The fish were hastily plunged into all manner of receptacles (clearly my first concern was for them!) I gathered towels to stem the tide of blood and water soaking into my very expensive flooring…and then I asked if he was ok.

Turns out he was ‘not so much’ on the ‘ok’ front. So I whizzed him over to hospital.

Fortunately the wound to his bonce was superficial, however the wound to my home was not.

I decided then and there that no matter how delicious this man may be, it could only be a matter of time before he managed to stumble, fall and break parts of me!

So sadly he was given the ‘Big Heave-Ho’.

Some things in life are worth losing the odd piece of glassware for, but limbs? Well, I’d rather keep them in one piece if it’s all the same to you.

http://www.flirtomatic.com/DirtyToy91

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