My numbers

You’re doing it again, and this time by numbers. And what if we go phonetic for a spell? Won, too? Tree? I love trees and that makes me glad I can’t lisp. For. For what? 5? Got me there. Can I rhyme? How about skive? I’ll go German for sex. 7? Has to be heaven, but I really love ate. Just to clarify, I hate ‘ate. Germanic No! then. And can I sneak in a big fat hen? (0 responsibility taken for PC or not 2.)

It’s not really the numbers, it’s the words. I get calls from dead parents since they always come through when I’m not engaged. Hubby loves wearing jungle-green lace, so no more talk of undies, please. Rubber gloves? But darling, I only wear mink, synthetic of course. Basically, though in any pack there are just a bunch of jokers. Did I mean to say that? I’m surrounded by tiles which makes it easy to clean the ice-box. Who needs a fridge anyway? Sox? Much prefer sex, but that’s kind of hard in the washing machine. I don’t live in a house, so that takes care of the bedrooms. I don’t have a handbag, but I do have a couple of very close friends; ok, some are my husband’s. I do not drink alcohol in units. Not everything needs to be metric! I don’t count birthdays and have lost track of parties. I prefer red to blue, orange and green. There’s a school next door, but no one stops at the gate. They all go inside for there’s safety in numbers. Yet crowds really scare me. Has that got something to do with the Comet? I do not cook. Why do you think HE gets to wear the jungle-greens? Sorry, my slip. But then, I’m immortal.