Great expectations


Being the helpful chap he is, my boy recently loaned his long leather jacket (Matrix-style, cringe factor 10/10) to an old university friend who’s costuming for a new TV show in Dublin.

In chatting and catching up, she regaled him with tales of strange people being obstructive about the strange stuff they were looking for… One item being those elbow-length veterinary gloves, for intimate cow moments.

Knowing a few people in a few places, I asked a lovely friend if he could source some. Legend that he is, he’d located some within minutes, promising to drop them down to me that evening. Apparently, the veterinary nurse said, “I won’t ask” when he requested them. I giggled.

Reflecting on it now, it all makes sense really. When a sex blogger asks for elbow-length cow violation gloves on Twitter, there’s only one place the mind will go.

That’s probably why the first thing my friend (who accompanied my source to deliver the gloves) said upon arrival was: “These are for fisting, right?”

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