The honeyed one speaks, dripping nectar with every syllable, oozing sweet seductive nothings which captivate me according to her every whim.
The puckered one – perhaps no bitch, but certainly too often unkempt and neglected – blows a jealous indignant raspberry.
Determined to reconcile the warring sisters, I respond stiffly to their respective summonses, letting each in turn welcome me warmly in. “See, you are both beloved!” I reassure them in fulsome alternation.
But hark, an interloper! “What about moi?” she cries from above, her lower lip pouting, her eager tongue moist, irresistible.
This could be a long night…
