And at commodities rates in the Big Apple? I still have to recover from a flute buying frenzy brought on by grief-induced madness. sigh Maybe next year. A day or two’s layover on the way to Ireland might cover the bases. I promise I’ll wash my hands.
I swear he’s on the lookout for hazardously placed pigeons in that photo. You can take the man out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the man.
So. Here we have Bloomie, shamelessly flirting with Robin. Should I be outraged? Would indignation be righteous?
I suppose it wouldn’t. After all, it was a mere five minutes or so into the thread in which I was accused of stirring up sexual tension with Bloo that I discovered Susnfx had already stirred that pot.
What are we Chiff and Fipple gals to make of the elusive Bloom? Is he a cad, a rover…or is there enough Bloomfield to go around?
Alas, I guess my “fling” with the dashing Bloom is merely a notch on his fipple, and I must sigh wistfully, cherish the memories, and move on.
I normally try not to interfer in this sort of discussion, because the risk of misunderstandings is just too great. But I would like to clarify that I am not shamelessly flirting with Robin. That is Gunther, my whistle teacher, and heaven knows what he isn’t telling me about yesterday’s whistle gathering. Be that as it may be, however. It is important to note that there certainly is more Bloomfield than I wish there were (others will have to decide whether it’s enough to go around). I would regret it profoundly, Em, if you were to consider yourself merely a notch on my fipple; although, of course, I couldn’t wish for a better-looking notch.