DOGWIFFAS

I have been told more than once that I have an addiction to cussedness. It is true. An example is boots. I wanted, for some time, some nice fleecy Man-Uggs. They, I thought, would be great for trolling about outside at home. I bought them at the grand cost of £240. They were rubbish. They were never comfortable. They fell apart within one season. This year I wondered if there were suitable alternative brands. I found a pair for £16.99. They are comfortable and warm and so far have not fallen apart. However, the somewhat lower, not to say artificial quality of the fleece means that once wet they stink like an old Labrador. Her indoors says I must get rid of them and has threatened to bin them if I don't do it. My native cussedness kicks in. I refuse, and am busy spraying them daily inside with a cocktail of Sure deodorant and Blue Stratos. The Little Princess calls them my Dogwiffas and we have much laughter in the car playing a game of I spy with my little nose something beginning with......... The answer is always Dogwiffas. I tend to view this kind of unsocial stubbornness as a good thing. But others are turning up their noses!