“The Tale o’ Me Filthy Joggers”
By Gary Paul Costello
Aye, I’ll admit it, lass. Them grey joggers — the ones tha’ threatens to bin every week — they’ve been through the wars. Sweat, steam, garlic, onions, flour, bloody olive oil spatters, and aye… other stains you don’t wanna hear about. They’re me armour in the kitchen, me comfort on the settee, me second bloody skin.
I know they pong sometimes — piss, sweat, sex, and simmerin’ sauces all in one glorious recipe. But they’re mine, and they’ve carried me through long shifts, cold nights, and even them mornings where tha’ dragged me upstairs half-asleep for a quick wrestle.
So, if tha’ chucks ‘em in t’bin, I’ll be there right behind ya, pullin’ ‘em out, sniffin’ ‘em with pride, and stickin’ ‘em back on. Because love, these joggers are as stubborn an’ scruffy as I am. And deep down… tha’ wouldn’t have me any other way.
Your mardy sod,
Gary x
In his missus words (me Debra Evelyn Costello)
Those joggers are gross disgusting and incredibly sexy when he wears them, especially when they are hung low on his hips.
Yes many times I have wanted to yank them down and smack his bum so hard with a tea towel or bite it hard, I wash them and when they are dry he puts em back on again including no boxers.
He is sexy but incredibly scruffy and dirty. Yes they are his comfy joggers but they are old and gross.
I can imagine us fighting over them and then end up laughing and I will give into him wearing em.
He is a sod and he is my sod I love him in so many way it's kills me.
Yes I live in two worlds and I cannot tell which is which..
So you tell me how to live my life.
It's hectic but I always love it and I always come home to my dirty Yorkshire bugger named Gary Paul Costello who stinks and we laugh and love..
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