Put the butter knife down and step away from the sandwich...

So apparently there's a town in the US called Sandwich, and their police cars look like this.

Am I the only one whose first thought was "Damn, those people are really serious about their lunches!"

Sandwich Police Officer:  Ma'am I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the table. 

Woman:  What seems to be the problem officer? 

Sandwich Police Officer:  I see you have a roast beef sub there.  Can I ask what condiments are present? 

Woman:  ... uh ... dijonnaise? 

Sandwich Police Officer:  Ma'am, are you aware that it's a felony to use mustard related condiments on a sour dough base? 

Woman:  It's not sour dough, I swear!  It's ciabatta!  They told me it was ciabatta! 

Sandwich Police Officer:  I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid you're going to have to come down to the station. 

Woman's friend:  I told her she should have got the chicken wrap instead.

Looks like I picked the wrong career...

Ladies, have you been feeling a little down on yourselves lately?  Suffering from low self esteem, negative body image or a poor quality of life?  Well, I have just the thing to perk you up.

Do porn!

That's right, according to this article, porn actresses are happier, healthier, and all round better than us normal woman.  Who knew that a little slap and tickle in front of a camera could make such a difference to your life!

Apparently 177 adult entertainment professionals were surveyed, and the results showed that these women were happier, more positive, more spiritual, and just generally well rounded than their non-porn sisters.  Who'd have thunk that an ability to fake an orgasm on screen was such a life improving thing.

Mind you, the results of the study that came up with these statistics were published in something called The Journal of Sex Research.  Yeah, that's right, in something that sounds like it should have a picture of a "sexy scientist" on the front who just accidentally lost her lab coat.  Add to that the fact that there's no mention of just who they're comparing these actresses to to get these result, and I'd have to say I'm not entirely trusting of the data.

Still, it's not like I have any solid evidence to say otherwise.  For all I know it's all completely true, and the best way to self fulfilment is to become a porn star.  And wouldn't you hate to miss out just because you were a little sceptical of the validity of the facts?

So go forth, my sisters and make those naughty rumpty pumpty films!  Do it for your families, do it for your friends, but most of all do it for yourselves!

No, seriously, do it for yourselves.  I hear those films pay a shitload!

Conversations with a feline dictator...

*Walks into the living room*

Me:  Gypsy, where are you?

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  Behold, puny human!  I am the mistress of all I purvey!

Me:  What the ... how the hell did you get up there?

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  It is a thrilling tale, not for the faint of heart.

Me:  No seriously, how the hell?  You fall when you're trying to jump on the couch!

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  When I spotted the great Mount Roomdivider during my bi-hourly patrol through the living room, I knew that it was something I had to conquer.

Me:  ... it's not even near the bench...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  So I prayed to the Cat God, His Holiness Tiddles, and asked him to give me the strength to reach the summit.

Me:  ... didn't even break the lamp...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  I felt myself become imbued with the power of the Cat God.  Energised with his holy light, I leapt at Mount Roomdivider, clawing my way up inch by torturous inch.

Me:  ... bloody six feet tall ...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  Finally, after much struggling, and several perilous near misses, I finally reached the summit.  It was a great day for felinekind!  Now, assist me back to terra firma, peon!

Me:  ... you know what?  I don't want to know. You want to be on top of the room divider, you knock yourself out.  I'm sure you'll come down when you're ready.

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  No, wait ... where are you going ... come back here, human!  GET ME DOWN AND GIVE ME CHICKEN!!!


I'm still not sure how she got up there.  Seriously, she can't even jump onto the kitchen bench without assistance, and she falls off the couch about fifty percent of the time.  I'm just going to go with the assumption that I now have a poltergeist that likes to place my cat in random unusual locations.

A passion for fashion...

I've never been what you would call fashion forward.  Honestly, as long as my clothes aren't full of holes or too wrinkled when I leave in the morning, I call that a win.  I have no idea what colours go with what, whether stripes and checks really clash, or which tops look best with which skirts.  As long as I'm decent, everyone else will just have to put up with my lack of style.

I understand the female obsession with shoes even less.  Given a choice I would probably opt to go barefoot all the time.

So this new craze for having foot surgery just so you can wear those exquisitely uncomfortable, albeit cute looking, shoes?  Yeah, I don't get it at all.

I mean seriously, who decides that they'll get their little toe removed because it's messing with their ability to wear a pair of stilettos?  I've seen some cute shoes before, but I don't think I've ever seen a pair I'd be willing to permanently disfigure my feet over.

Still, I suppose it's not the first time we've done something batshit crazy in the name of beauty.  Here are some of some of the weird, terrifying or just plain insane beauty practices the human race has used at one time or another in their attempt to pretty themselves up.

• In order to get their teeth whiter and their breath fresher, the ancient Romans would gargle with urine.  Gross, I know, but apparently the ammonia in it was a good way to kill any dental bacteria.  They imported the urine from Portugal, which has got to be the world's most disgusting trade agreement.  I'm not sure why they didn't save themselves the expense and use their own ... I'm guessing that they thought it'd be weird to gargle with their own urine.
• The ancient Greeks got in on the action too.  Their chosen insanity was to bathe in crocodile dung, which they believed had beautifying powers.  Putting the gross factor aside, you have to feel sorry for the poor guy who got stuck with the job of collecting it.
• In Japan, geisha used to use a paint made of rice flour and bird faeces to whiten their faces.  Personally, I have a hard enough time working up the nerve to clean out my cockatiel's cage, let alone smearing the contents of the tray liner over my face and wearing it around for hours on end.  Jeez, didn't it smell?
• The medieval European's were also into the whole skin-whitening shenanigans but rather than just using something gross they opted to go with stupidly dangerous.  They'd coat their faces with white lead and arsenic powder.  Sure it made them pale, but maybe that had more to do with the fact they were poisoning themselves slowly to death.

It kind of makes you wonder how we managed to survive as a species, doesn't it.

Does this mean my ham sandwich is a gateway drug...

Like most people in this day and age I've heard a lot of talk about this new fangled notion everyone's getting so worked up about called Vegetarianism.  It's true, dear readers.  There are people out there who live without the joys of meat, preferring to stick to the philosophy that if it has a face, you probably shouldn't eat it.

And fair enough, I say.  I'm sensible enough to admit that, while I personally am not willing to give up a nice rare steak or a Thai chicken curry, there is plenty of merit in the idea.  Moral issues aside, it's been proven many times over that fewer people are fed by an animal raised to be eaten than if they'd eaten what fed the animal instead.  I get it, I acknowledge it.

But I'm still going to eat meat.

Why?  Because it's damned delicious!  Biologically I'm an omnivore, and I have absolutely no problems with that.  I guess I see Vegetarianism the same way I see abortion.  I fully support anyone else who wants to do it, but I choose not to myself.

But today I learned that it's possible eating meat is more detrimental to my moral well being than I'd realised!  In this article, I discovered the following facts about people who eat meat.

• they cheat

• they tell lies

• they forget promises

• they are dishonest

• they use bad words

• they steal

• they fight

• they commit sex crimes

Huh ... I had no idea that having a hamburger could be that bad for me. 

These facts, and I use the term loosely, were published in an Indian text book for eleven year olds.  That's right, they told a bunch of pre-teens that if you eat meat, you'll become a sex offender.  This would be the part where I write something scathing and insightful about the ridiculousness of such a sentiment ... but I'm not even sure where to begin with this one.

So instead of getting preachy and judgemental, I'm just going to be glad that the next time I see a good looking guy and have the sudden urge to rip his clothes off and do unspeakable things with him, I can blame it on the pork chops I had for dinner.

Sorry Edward and Jacob, I prefer Bella's Dad...

Today I went to see the new Twilight movie ... please don't judge me.  What can I say, I got hooked just like everyone else.  Those books are like literary crack cocaine, only ten times more addictive!  So I went along and watched like the good little lemming that I am.

But it made me realise something about myself I didn't know before.  A response I hadn't realised was becoming common for me.

What was that response, you ask?  Disgust at Taylor Lautner's disproportionate body to head ratio?  Amusement at the questionable acting skills of Ms Stewart?  Mindboggling bewilderment at the less than stellar special effects that involved chopping off a nine year old's face and whacking it on a toddler's body?

While all of these might be true, they're not what concerned me.  No, I'm referring to the fact that, while my movie companions were all either Team Jacob or Team Edward (and believe me, there was an awful lot of trash talking going on for a bunch of thirty something supposedly mature women), it would seem that I'm Team Bella's Dad.

That's right, in a film full of young, relatively good looking guys, I decided to make cow eyes at the heroine's father.

In my defence, he's not that much older than me (only about nine years), and he's cute!  I even like that silly moustache he wears in it.  And he's so normal and bewildered in it while everyone else around him are weird creatures like werewolves and vampires and Robert Pattinson.

Still, there I am sitting in the cinema leering at Bella's Dad, and I can't help wondering if it's the father thing.  Is it just that I'm attracted to men who seem like good parental material?  And if it's a trend, I wonder if I should be concerned?  You know what they say, once is an accident, twice a coincidence, but three times is a trend.  Lets see if I'm trending?

Dennis Quaid in The Day After Tomorrow:  Yep, definitely a hot Dad.  I know we were supposed to go for Jake Gyllenhaal and his big I'm-so-out-of-my-depths-but-I'm-going-to-be-heroic-anyway eyes, but I preferred the heroic father who crossed the country on foot in the middle of the mother of all snow storms to get to his son.  Heroic and paternal, a double threat! 

Liam Neeson in Love Actually:  Now who wouldn't love the recently widowed single dad, trying desperately to be positive and uplifting for his son even though he's still mourning.  Heartstrings ... yep, they're definitely pulled. 

Colin Firth in What A Girl Wants:  While I, of course, loved Colin in Pride and Prejudice (can anyone say wet shirt!!!), he was very cute playing a newly realised father of a teenage girl.  He bumbled around and was adorably British.  Not to mention he was very sexy riding that motorcycle!  

Okay ... definitely a trend.

Wherein the soapbox gets a workout...

I do love me a good protest.  There's nothing more amusing than watching someone who seriously, seriously into their chosen issue try to convince a bunch of apathetic passers by that what they're protesting is of the utmost importance.  Usually they're ignored by the passers by, sometimes humoured and a petition gets signed in an attempt to get them to stop harping on, and occasionally there's laughing and pointing involved. Honestly, I could watch them for hours!

Unless it's an issue I feel very strongly about, I generally deal with them by crossing the road, not making eye contact, or on one occasion when the fellow was particularly persistent, pretending I don't speak English.  I generally try to avoid open mocking (except where it's clearly necessary), after all we all have our little quirks and beliefs that other people find baffling.  Personally, I feel very strongly about scrap booking, although I try to keep my vitriol to myself.

But when I saw the new campaign by PETA, those kooky animal loving kids, I was more than a little disturbed by the direction they chose to go.  In it they have a poster of a woman who has apparently shoved a yeti wig down her lacy underwear, with a slogan cutely declaring "Fur Trim:  Unattractive".

Here's the link to the poster, but open it with caution.  I wouldn't say it's NSFW, but it probably skirts the boarder if your boss is an asshole.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the point where I get out my soapbox and start preaching.

It's ridiculous, and more than a little disturbing, that there is this current trend for men to prefer women without any "grass on the wicket".  For whatever reason, the lads in our lives have been convinced that they should want women who look like they're about twelve years old, rather than those who look like they might actually be old enough to be sexually active!

But for any group to use this ridiculous social phobia in a way that actually compares it with something they consider base and wrong is inexcusable!  It's not helping, it's just reaffirming the notion that women shouldn't look like they've entered puberty.

Bad form, PETA, bad form.

And now I'll put away the soapbox before someone trips over it.

The family that smokes meth together...

I just love The Brady Bunch.  Do you guys remember that episode where Greg hit Marcia in the nose with a football?  Or the one where Peter beat up a bully for teasing Cindy about her lisp?  Or the one where Carol and Jan smoked methamphetamine together?

Wait, you mean that didn't happen in The Brady Bunch?

Oh, then it must have been from that news story I was reading about a woman who thought it was a smashing idea to regularly sit down with her 13 year old daughter and smoke some crystal meth.  Still, I'm sure you can understand my mistake.  After all, we all know that Carol Brady was the perfect mother, and this woman is obviously in the running for parent of the year.

You hear plenty of stories about people who are just awful parents.  Abuse and neglect are far too common, considering how advanced our society is.  But when I read about something like this, something that shows just how far some people will go to inflict their frankly reprehensible lifestyle onto their kids, it makes me  so furious!

I'd like to think that, in some twisted way, she was doing it in an attempt to bond with her daughter like she claimed, but I'm really not that naive.  Her life was toxic, and rather than stepping up as a parent and doing what she needed to do to make sure her daughter wasn't hurt by her choices, she just handed over the drugs and tried to draw her kid in too.  Misery loves company, I guess.

So I'd like to congratulate this sterling example of parenthood, you are the lucky recipient of my Douchebag Of The Week award!  Congratulations, your complete lack of care for your child's health, well being, state of mind, and future has earned you this very prestigious accolade.

Seriously, lady, haven't you ever heard of milk and cookies?  That's what you're supposed to share with your kids, not incredibly hard drugs!

An open letter: a helmet and a pair of bike pants do NOT make you indestructible...

Dear bicyclist who was on the road this morning,

I'm trying very hard to remain calm here.  I don't want to lash out at you in anger, that's not going to get us anywhere, but you're really not making it easy for me.  I'm just having a hard time understanding why you insist on going out there on the road every day and wilfully putting your life (and my sanity) on the line!

I get it, I really do.  Being a cyclist is difficult.  You ride around on a small tin machine with only a fibre glass helmet and a terrifyingly tight pair of bike pants to protect you.  It must be awfully stressful, navigating roads filled with roaring metal contraptions that seem to want to run you down.

So I would have expected that you'd take more care with your personal safety, not less.  I know the traffic this morning was going slower than usual, but that doesn't give you leave to overtake me in a narrow lane, swerve in front of me, then look over your shoulder and start yelling at me!  I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but what you did was against the road rules, and if you insist on riding on the roads with the rest of us, then we're going to have to insist that you follow them!

Your action were irresponsible and dangerous, you could have gotten yourself hurt, and trying to blame me for them just because you were scared and feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone!  If you want to ride your bike on the road I won't object, but I refuse to support you if you're just going to use it as an excuse to pirouette around me, trying to get yourself turned into a little greasy spot on the bitumen!

I'm sorry, I don't mean to shout.  I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.  I don't want to see you hurt, and god knows I don't want to be the one that hurts you.

So here's the deal ... I'll accept half of the responsibility for  your safety, if you'll accept the other half.  Come on, it's a fair deal.  Up until now I've been doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, making sure I know where you are at all times while you duck and weave through traffic like a five year old on pixie sticks.  All I'm asking for is a little care for your own well being on your part ... and perhaps brushing up on the road rules wouldn't be a bad idea either.

Love Kellie.

P.S. Don't take my jibe about the tight bike pants to heart, you've got a rather nice rear so they're really quite fetching.

They just don't understand our love, Simba...

Really?  This is what you choose
to get arrested over? 

It's a tale of forbidden love.  Two souls, forever entwined, but cruelly kept apart by the harsh judgement of society.  Forced to meet clandestinely in the dark of night, only able to steal brief moments of comfort in each other's company and arms.

Well, when I say arms, I mean one set of arms and one set of immovable bronze paws.  The love of a man for his bronze lion statue is epic, epic I tell you!

Surely she's a much more
attractive option!

 So it seems that there is a young Austrian man somewhere in Russe, Bulgaria who was arrested the other day for having sex with a bronze statue of a lion in public.  Hmm, does that mean that if he'd done it in private they wouldn't have had a problem with it?  I suppose that's true, people have sex with inanimate objects all the time.

But it does make you wonder just why he thought THAT particular statue would be a good self pleasuring device.  There doesn't seem anything particularly sexy about it.  I mean, if he was going to get jiggy with a metal effigy, surely he could have found a nice bronze man or woman (whichever his preference) and then had his romantic liason.

Well, at least you know
what you're getting.

A quick Google search shows that there are plenty of other options in the town of Russe if you're determined to feel cool metal or stone under your wandering fingertips.  What about the girl above?  She's young, pretty and her hand is very strategically placed if you get what I mean!  *nudge nudge wink wink*

Or, if your tastes lean towards the male of the species, how about our friend to the left?  He's quite the strapping lad, although he seems to have forgotten his trousers.  Actually, now that I think about it, that hair cut kind of makes him look like He-Man.  I guess if you're into 80's cartoon heroes it could work...

But perhaps I'm pushing our Austrian friend too hard to find a human shaped inanimate partner.  Maybe he just wanted to do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Blogiversary Giveaway: and the winner is...

...  Stephen Hayes over at The Chubby Chatterbox!  Congratulations!  If you haven't read his blog before, I highly recommend going over there and having a browse.  He's charming and hilarious and well worth a visit!

If you send your postal address to delightfullyludicrous@gmail.com, I'll pop them in the mail for you ASAP.  I'm sure you're going to have oodles of fun reading about those kooky Edwardians and their hilarious gender stereotypes.

Thank you everyone who took the time to comment and congratulate me on reaching the six month mark.  I am, quite frankly, blown away by what a wonderful community we have going on here.  Yay us!!!

I had a couple of enquiries about where you can get copies of these books.  Personally, I got them from here, but that's only useful if you live where I do.  However you can also get them online at amazon.com.

So thank you once again for coming and playing with me every other day!  I love each and every one of you the most!

The sort of funeral I could DEFINITELY get behind...

I remember when I was studying archaeology at university, they told us that one of the signs of a civilised culture was care taken with the dead.  Apparently the more knick knacks you give someone who's popped their clogs, the more refined you are.

But I'm pretty sure that my Professor wasn't referring to the Taiwanese practice of having strippers at the grave side when he was extolling the virtues of those who pay extra attention to their funerary rites.

Yep, you heard me right, strippers.  Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up ... and why would I want to when it's all right there for the pickings!

Apparently it isn't unheard of for family members of the deceased to hire an "exotic dancer" to dance for him.  That's right, not for the mourners ... for the dead guy.  I suppose it's fair enough, he's had a bad time of it.  First he died, then some bloke took all his blood out and replaced it with chemicals, then they stuck him in a really uncomfortable suit that he probably tried really hard to avoid wearing when he was alive, and finally they shoved him into a little wooden box ... and you can't tell me they didn't bend his feet up if it turned out he was a touch too tall for it!

He probably needs a bit of a pick-me-up after a day like that.  That dude earned his post-mortem sexy dancing ladies.

But it did get me to thinking about what I'd like at my funeral, should time, finances and availability allow.  Really, its something we all should think about, no point leaving it to our relatives who would probably get it all wrong anyway.  So after much deliberation I've decided to leave a list of instructions to be followed in the event that I shuffle off this mortal coil.

• I'd like my funeral to be fancy dress.  Just general costumes if necessary, but if time allows, then it should be themed.  My preference is for one of the following:  
• Harry Potter
• Tarts and Vicars
• Roman Toga
• Come as your favourite dead person (I'll be very offended if you don't all come dressed as me)
• There will be no bible readings or other religious speeches at my funeral.  Instead, I'd like my entire life narrated via the medium of interpretive dance.
• There definitely needs to be a lucky door prize.  I'm thinking a toaster, or maybe a set of luxury towels.  At least that way someone walks out of there happier than when they walked in because hey ... free towels!
• In honour of the Taiwanese custom that gave me this idea, of course I also want strippers.  In fact, if you could convince Matt Bomer to attend and do some of those things he did in Magic Mike ... well, then I think we'll ALL leave happier than when we arrived.
• And, as shown in the picture above, I'd like my casket carried to my resting place by clowns.  No particular reason, it just looks really cool.  Come on, look at that picture and tell me that you wouldn't want that too!

So that's the bare bones of it, I'll leave it up to the rest of you to sort out the little details if and when they're needed.  But I'll just add one last instruction.  If it ends up being an open casket, could someone please monitor the viewers?  Not all of my associates are entirely scrupulous and I'd hate to go to my eternal rest with a drawn on moustache or no eyebrows. 

Ta muchly!

I've heard of the power of the mind, but this is ridiculous...

I like to think I'm a tad more well informed about different religions and beliefs than the average bear, but I have to admit that I don't really know that much about Voodoo.  Beyond what I saw in the Kate Hudson movie Skeleton Key, my knowledge pretty much begins and ends with the word "witchdoctor".  Somehow, I think none of that really gives me a suitable knowledge base to be making judgements.

But when has that ever stopped me.  

I definitely believe in the power of the mind.  Hell, my religion makes it practically compulsory to do so!  But even so, I like to think I temper that with a little thing I like to call common sense.  Do I believe that universal forces can be affected by intense thought and meditation?  Yes.  Do I think that one person, thinking really, really hard, can create a strong immediate and physical reaction in someone?  Ah, no.  No I don't.  If it was that easy, everyone would be doing it and we'd have all killed each other off years ago.

But I'm sure you're wondering where I'm going with this seemingly nonsensical rant.  I guess the question of the day is if you rape someone in your imagination, is it really rape?

According to this news article, a man was arrested in Zimbabwe for having non-consensual Voodoo mind sex with a woman at a bus stop.  Apparently someone got a wee bit suspicious when he started sweating, looking a little "excited", and staring at the woman like a big creepy creeper.  The conclusion drawn?  He was practising Mubobobo, a type of Voodoo that let him have sex with the woman using only the power of his mind.

Uh ... yeah, we have something like that too.  It's called fantasising.

Of course, I'm not trying to downplay the ick factor of this guy getting all hot and bothered in public thanks to some poor unsuspecting woman.  There's no doubt it's disturbing, and depending upon what he was actually doing and the laws in the area possibly illegal, but I really can't see the justification for calling it rape.

Jeez, if everyone who had imaginary mind sex with someone without their consent was arrested, there'd be no one left to run the place!  I know I would be, thanks to several very good looking TV and movie stars and, in recent memory, a rather dishy guy who was painting the side of a house wearing only a pair of overalls ... sorry, my blue collar kink is showing, isn't it.  But the point is everyone does it, and anyone who tells you that they don't is a god damned liar whose pants are definitely smouldering!

For those who haven't yet, just another reminder to go enter if you want to win the set of "Don'ts for..." books I'm giving away!  

So, it turns out I'm a hardened criminal...

Did you know that I was a criminal for six year?

It's true.

For six whole years I blatantly, if not knowingly, broke a law.  I mean, it's not like I bought myself a mask and a crowbar and decided that a life of crime was the way to go, I had no idea what I was doing was even illegal, but then they do say that ignorance is no excuse.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here before but I'm a Pagan.  I have been since I was about ninteen or twenty years old when I first realised that pretty much everything I already believed fit into the beliefs of Paganism.  I remember reading about it in a book my brother had given to me and thinking "Oh, I'm a Pagan ... well now it all makes sense".

The only problem was that Paganism wasn't made legal in the state I live in until 2001.

So there's a good six or seven years that I was practicing an illegal religion, and I had no idea.  Hell, it never even occurred to me that there might even BE illegal religions!  No one ever said anyting to me about it, and it's not like the Pagan community was keeping themselves hidden away or anything, so I had absolutely no idea I was doing anything illegal ... until I read about those laws being repealed in a magazine.

It was a bit of a shock, I must say.

I have to imagine that Keith London, a city official in Florida, had a similar reaction when someone tried to have him charged with living in sin, another old law that no one had gotten around to removing.  I mean seriously, who even uses the expression "living in sin" in this day and age? Were they tutting about the scandal of it all while they were churning their butter and hand sewing a dress for the Sunday church social?

His response was, as you would expect from a city official, a very politely worded screw you and the horse you rode in on.

I can't imagine the complaint got very far, but I still think it's great that he was willing to stand up and say "no" in the face of an unjust law, no matter how outdated and unused.  I like to think that if someone  had turned up at my door and insisted I renounce my beliefs or face charges ... I would have told them to go jump too.   No one is going to tell me what I can and can't believe in!

Yep, I'm just a rebel I guess.

But don't tell anyone, okay?  I'm far too delicate to survive in jail.

By the way, don't forget to go and enter if you'd like to win the set of "Don'ts for..." books I'm giving away in celebration of Delightfully Ludicrous surviving to make it to it's six month anniversary.  Come on!  That's like 50 years old in blog years!!!

Blogiversary: where the presents go to you...

Happy six month blogiversary to me!

Happy six month blogiversary to me!

Happy six month blogiversary dear Delightfully Ludicrous!!!!

Happy six month blogiversary to meeeeee!!!!!!

Yep, that's right, Delightfully Ludicrous is now six months old!  

*pops party streamers*

And in celebration of this very important event, I've decided to have another giveaway!  Those of you who've been visiting me for a while will remember a couple of reviews I did a few months back on two vintage books very descriptively entitled "Don'ts for Wives" and "Don'ts for Husbands".  They gave some ... shall we say interesting ... advice to the matrimonially blessed, such as making sure not to hire good looking servants in case your husband decides to get a little handsy, and to not let the little lady spend too much on her own lest she waste a month's housekeeping on some silly frippery.

Well if you ever wondered what other absolute gems of advice were contained therein, today's your lucky day!

One lucky reader is going to get a copy of each of "Don'ts for Wives" and "Don'ts for Husbands", as well as "Don'ts for Mothers" and "Don'ts for Weddings"!  That's right, four whole books of outdated, misogynistic advice.

How could you resist!  

So if you'd like to be the lucky winner, just leave a note below and I'll randomly draw a winner from the hat of fate!  You have until 10am AEST on Thursday 8th November to enter, which I believe is 8pm Wednesday 7th November New York time.  

Thanks again for all your support over the past six months, guys.  It's made writing here a joy and a delight.  Here's to the next six months!