Hot to trots

Summer is great in London, mostly because the female of the species tend to wear a lot less. I realise how typically male that last sentence is, but it’s true. I love the female form.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a girlfriend and there isn’t a woman who compares, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a transparent dress or hotpants here and there. Well, unless it’s on a 300lb munter…..or a man.

I always think it’s a shame that our nation’s weather causes the fairer sex to cover themselves up, usually in multiple layers for a large part of the year.

But in summer it’s a different story and it’s interesting to see the assortment of clothing that emerges from the underused summer wardrobes of England.

As I walked from the station to the office this morning I noticed a girl coming the other way. She was in heels, had toned legs, a short skirt that wasn’t slutty but still drew stares, a very fitted shirt with enough open buttons for ample cleavage, flawless make-up, sumptuous long brown hair and sunglasses…all wrapped up in a little wiggle that made it impossible not to watch her, whether you’re male or female.

In short, she was really quite cute.

I could see she was talking on her phone as she had her head cocked sideways; wedging it between her ear and her shoulder. She was fumbling with something in her hands.

As she got closer I saw that it was a packet of Imodium.

Fail

girl-on-toilet-m

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