Tuesday, July 2, 2013
“England swings like the pendulum do…” and Beverly’s delightful boobies swing like a cup of Jell-O do, jiggling merrily along the cobblestone streets of Jolly Olde London, circa 1965. A free spirit, and mother of two, Beverly often went sans top on the rare sunny days as she motored to her job as a registered wet nurse on her unidentified little (Honda?) scooter. (Larry?)
Alfred is in no way amused, however. His scowling face reveals the disdain he has for such wanton disregard for proper British decency. But later, as he spends another day confined in dignified drudgery as a certified accountant in the Financial District, he secretly recalls the faint tan lines and supple curves of Beverly's provocative profile and lusts after the lactating, wide-spaced, free-wheeling dairy products Beverly proudly exhibited during the morning commute.