My darling Toni

I telephoned your office earlier to speak to you about an issue that keeps coming up from women seeking my sage advice, but I was told you were out to lunch (Again! You must really watch your weight, young lady. You know what they say: A moment on the lips…).

I am forever getting requests for counsel on blowing or blowjobs, but I have not the foggiest idea what they are talking about and I thought you may be able to shed some light. Are they looking for the lyrics for I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles, which was a great hit when I was a young woman just after the Great War? Do you remember it?      

I'm forever blowing bubbles,

Pretty bubbles in the air.

They fly so high,

Nearly reach the sky,

Then like my dreams,

They fade and die.

At the time I was being wooed by a returning serviceman (I think his name was Percival) who told me this very stupid story. It went something like this: Three ducks appeared in court and the judge called the first to the stand.   

‘What’s your name?’ asked the judge.

’Quack,’ answered the duck.

’And why were you arrested?’

’I was blowing bubbles.’

The judge didn’t see anything wrong with that and dismissed the duck.

’What’s your name?’ he asked the second duck.

‘Quack,’ answered the duck.

‘Why were you arrested?’

‘I was blowing bubbles.’

Again the judge saw nothing offensive, dismissed the charges and called the last duck.

‘I suppose your name is also Quack?’ said the judge as the final one took the stand.

‘No, I’m Bubbles.’

In modern parlance I think you would call this a ‘lame’ joke. I absolutely did not get it, and to this day I still do not and regard it as the most pathetic story I have ever heard. Suffice it to say that Percival was cut from my social calendar. Then, many years later, I came across another reference to blowing.

My friend Agnes was not blessed in the brains department. At about the same time I purchased my pink Cadillac she acquired a Morris Minor (she married for love rather than the much more sensible money) and soon after was caught in a ferocious hail storm. When she approached her neighbourhood panel beater he gave her the wise advice to blow really hard into the exhaust after it had cooled down.

Remember, this was in the days before there were those sucky things for removing indentations on the roof of your car. Later that day I drove past to find her down on her hands and knees huffing and puffing into the car’s tail pipe.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘The man at the garage said this was the way to get the dents out,’ replied Agnes.

‘Deary, deary,’ I sighed. ‘You have to roll up the windows first.’

Agnes’s daughter, Emily, is a bit smarter and at her wedding I again overheard the word ‘blowjob’. I was sitting behind Agnes when the groom, smiling broadly, strode down the aisle and took his place at the altar.

‘Hey,’ the best man asked, ‘what’s with the grin?’

‘I’ve just had the best blowjob of my entire life,’ replied the groom. ‘And I’m marrying the wonderful woman who gave it to me.’

Waiting to enter the church, Emily was grinning as broadly.

‘Hey,’ the maid of honour asked, ‘what’s with the grin?’

‘I’ve just given the last blowjob of my life,’ replied Emily.

My shocked reaction was that there was a double entendre, but I have known Emily from when she was born and I am convinced she would never have done anything improper before marriage. So could you please help me with an interpretation of blowing and blowjobs so that I can give my usual valuable feedback to your readers?

Blowing kisses