Reservoir Mum left me this sneaky little note on the kitchen bench tonight and I’m a pretty freaked out because the one thing I want to do is ask her what KIND of flirting she’d prefer but as you can see that option has been vetoed!

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She might want something simple like my sexiest facial expression where I raise my eyebrows and bite my bottom lip while eyeing her up and down, nodding as if I’m at the butchers selecting some nice lamb shanks, because that would remind her of when we first met.

Or is she after a spontaneous shoulder massage and some lower back frotting? That’s worked in the past.

Perhaps just one smack on her steaming hot cracker will fire the furnace?

Does she want to stumble across me doing a nude back-spin on an oiled-up Twister mat?

Or is she after some clever innuendo like ‘Hey, I feel like some sausage for dinner tonight. Do you feel like a little sausage?’

I could leave the ensuite door ajar so she can catch a glimpse of me with my leg on the toilet, bent at the hips, shaving my lower leg?

Or I could burst into the study while she’s working on her stats and numbers and wing-dings and engage her with an energetic striptease to the David Hasselhoff classic ‘Jump In My Car’.

Shit. I really have no idea. So this is what I’m going to do.

I’m going to leave my own note on the kitchen bench, put on a little bit of Rick Astley, and wait for her on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

(I’ll also have my iPhone, in case she takes a while to stumble across the note. If you want you can keep me entertained by telling me which of the options above disturbed you the most.)

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