Manners Maketh the Mistress.

Did someone sneakily put crazy powder on the keyboards of select FL users? Come on, fess up if it was you and we can all just get busy with the disinfectant wipes then get back to shagging and arguing about how true we are.

My inbox is frequently colourful over there to say the least, and we all know that some groups are Trainwreck Central, and that even the most calm group can brew the odd clusterfuck. But seriously, things are bonkers like conkers over there at present.

My inbox is so full of madness that I am missing people I want to talk to. What is it full with? People who are outraged that I use a few naughty words. People who are thoroughly excited that I use a few naughty words. People that are upset that someone disagreed with them about something someone said about what someone else said about naughty words three pages back.

So let us clear a few things up;

1.   I swear! Isn’t is shocking? Or thrilling, depending on your perspective it seems. I live in the year 2012. Despite being English I do not live at Downton Abbey, though I’m pretty sure that when Lord Grantham is giving Lady Grantham one he utters a few choice words (he looks the type, don't you think)? And don’t even get me started on what I bet that Mr Carson says when someone spills the afternoon Earl Grey and the pretty lace doilies need re-laundering. Anyway, I say naughty, bad, dirty words sometimes, and yet somehow I live to tell the tale. I assure you my relayed utterance barely makes it on the radar of some of my most choice phrases. Tra la la.

2.   I am not even remotely interested in hearing that this makes your cock stiff. (I'm so sorry, I mean 'Pray tell, the fact my utterances engorge your member is not of interest to this Lady, good fellow').

3.   My slave has many flaws alongside his many wonderful traits. He is very human and at the age of fifty six, having lived a colourful life (such coy phraseology! oh the irony!) it’s fair to say a bit of swearing doesn’t even beep on his radar. While I fail Mistress 101 by not calling him a worm or similar, I do say things like ’Sweetums,  fucking do as you are fucking told you fucking cunt or I will nail your fucking hands to my bloody desk to keep you sodding well still, while I set about kicking the living shit out of you before pissing down your fucking throat, you twat. Is that clear enough my most  beloved darling?’ if he pisses me off.  Sometimes this happens before breakfast (life before coffee is brutal I tell you). As I am not actually breaking into old ladies houses to shout stuff like this at them for my jollies I don’t feel especially bad about this. He’s a big boy, he’ll live. He even loves me, despite my shamelessly obscene mouth. Affection comes in many forms dear reader.

4.   Amazingly, I do not speak like this to children, old ladies or random members of society going peaceably about their daily lives. In fact I'm generally considered polite, and even sometimes charming.

5.   We are all snowflakes. That is the beauty of snowflakes. You’re a snowflake, I’m a snowflake, the man over the road is a snowflake, people I love are snowflakes, and people I don’t care for are snowflakes. We don’t all need to tell everyone we are snowflakes or tell other people they are snowflakes, it is pretty much a given. Now, shimmering fluttering snowflake that I am, I am just as subject to difficulties as the next person. Lord knows I am fucked up enough. Amazingly though, despite my apparent undiagnosed (horny-to-some) Tourette’s Syndrome, and litany of other things that are not perfect about me, I somehow have the amazing good fortune to have some of the finest people I have ever met love me. Hurrah! Seriously, HURRAH! Their approval matters to me. The approval of complete strangers online simply doesn't. So please desist from memoing me to tell me how I am a disgrace to the noble name of O/p because I say 'fuck' every now and then. It is boring and it means I am missing fabulous chatter from cool people. And I am exceptionally fond of fabulous chatter you see.

6.   The Vatican have probably already excommunicated me by now, and who can blame them? So feel free to tell anyone afraid that I will infect them with Unladylike Profanity Syndrome that they are free to avoid me, and no one will judge, least of all me. You should assure them I will not even call them bad names, because secretly I'm actually quite nice. Just don't tell anyone, or you'll simply ruin my rep.

Love and kisses, MT xxx