My mother is not kinky. Really, she's not. She's a lovely woman, and I love her to bits, but she's not kinky.
She went to Paris a couple of weekends ago as a birthday treat. She was regaling me with tales when she got back, including talking about the little café they had found to have breakfast each morning. As she was telling me about this place, she took great delight in talking about the waitress they had, who the owner kept whacking on the butt (probably not the words my mother used) with a tea towel.
I didn't think much of at the time, as I was possibly not paying her proper attention as she talked. But yesterday those tales suddenly popped into my head as I remembered the relish with which she talked about this incident. At least twice.
She's not is she?
Let's just hope it's an aberration...
Oh god, where's my therapist's number??
5 hours ago