I know all I want from my lady when the time comes. And I know it will.
Track and Trace forms? She’s too good for those, silly! The absence of any daft signature on one of those nasty slips righteously makes it a chore and then some for nosy do-gooder officials who have most certainly not earned her respect. If we ever need to hide from the tyrants of today, there will always be a good pair of extra hands to fend off the cretins, a lovely face to keep stress at bay, and grace to give the situation some good-hearted humour.
The intrusive app, courtesy of ‘Hands, Face, Back to My Place Hancock’, is not one my number-one was thinking of downloading. Quite the opposite in fact. She knows how to reconnect with and harness the power of Mother Nature much better than how to virtue-signal with degenerate tweets, and she has no time to play ball with the profound breaches of human dignity, integrity and privacy that the malware constitutes.
Freedom of facial expression is not optional. The thought of her ever wearing a mask, even a visor as such, has to be totally and utterly unthinkable. For the sight of her face is and always must remain too good not to be unkissable, from the chin up to her mouth and over across her forehead. What a lovely dash of colours her lips must bring! The other ladies are missing out.
When someone crosses the finish line over their sixteenth birthday, they know or at least should know what is right for their body. I am no-one to tell someone which medical treatment they should or should not take, but my warrior lioness will have made the smartest decision in view of all the circumstances. And she knows I have a reason for smelling a rat.
A convertible Ferrari might taunt an acceptable compromise for keeping the ins and outs of her health-related interventions free of the state’s mucky hands. But boy is it not and my heroess will see through deception with a watchful eye.
Time is a finite resource and so too is money, which Number 10 made painfully apparent with their wasteful and woefully unnecessary furlough juggernaut. Yet there is promise to find that kindred heart before the grand piano of the next great financial crisis comes crashing down on us. Children? Well I guess God knows what we’ll be feeling like and when, but if we do raise them, lions and not sheeple they’ll be.