Dancing in My Nuddy-Pants

Hello, my gorgey little chums.

It’s me here writing to you once again from the seat of civilization (and no, I do not mean the lavatory … or rest room as you lot alarmingly call it). What I mean is I am writing to you from my bedroom to welcome you to another exciting(ish) diary of my fabulous life [hyperlink to Dancing in My Nuddy Pants page]. Within these pages I run the gamut of emotions from A to -- er -- C, with just a dash of heavy snogging. You will laugh, you will cry, you will plead that you have a headache, but you know in the end you will have to read my book. And so you should, because as you know by now I am a naturally shy person and not one to dance around in the nuddy-pants for no good reason. Besides, it has taken me minutes … er … no, hours to write this diary for your enjoymentosity.

I do it only because I love you.

P.S. I mean this with deepest sinceriosity.

P.P.S. Which is not an easy thing to say. You try it and see.

P.P.P.S. Some complete fool (my vati) says that in Hamburger-a-gogo land "fanny" means bottom. This can’t possibly be true. Teeheeee heeee.

P.P.P.P.S. It is true, isn’t it?

P.P.P.P.P.S. Do you know what "fa ... read full excerpt from: Dancing in My Nuddy-Pants ebook