Well, hello there!

So, it's been a while ...

I haven't be in circulation much since the end of last week.  I spent the weekend on the Isle of Wight working my first big dapplegrey art show of the season.  It was an exhausting weekend, but a successful one, and I'm thrilled to say that this little guy went to a lovely new home ...

( Bunny )

I got back from the Isle of Wight late on Sunday and headed straight off to work Monday morning.  It was an uneventful day at work, but the evening after I left work was anything but uneventful.  Stopping off on the way home at my local supermarket, I parked up, got out of the car and was walking across the car park to the shop, when I somehow managed to get my feet tangled in some litter that had been left lying around, and the end result was a spectacular faceplant in the middle of the car park!  *sigh*


( Glamorous huh? )

So such is life - after flying high at the art show this weekend, I've started the new week with a grazed knee, squished hand and very bruised pride!

And on the subject of bruised pride, it's GISHWHES time, so utter humiliation is the theme for pretty much the rest of this week.  Therefore, if I seem a little elusive over coming days, fear not, I and my chums are merrily GISHing the week away, and will no doubt have a few tales to tell when it's all over!

Love you all!
*hugs*

Pretty Boy Blues

PRETTY BOY BLUES

In between all the madness this weekend, I did find a few minutes of downtime on the Isle of Wight ferry to write a little drabble for the weekend challenge over on Fanfiction.net.  The challenge word was 'pretty'.

Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Dean
Spoilers/warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Disclaimer: sadly I don't own him

Say what you like to Dean, just don't call him pretty. 'Cause he's not. No really, he's not. Okay?

xxxxx

Dean stomped into his bedroom. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he flung it onto the bed.

Freaking 'pretty boys' ...

Tugging his tie, he aggressively yanked it off and tossed on the bed to join his jacket.

Honestly, if one more idiot sheriff called him and Sam 'pretty boy agents' again, he was gonna start swinging.

Sam maybe; but the great dork was so goddamn metrosexual, he was practically a woman anyway. But Dean? Dean was an all-action, badass, rugged-as-all-hell monster hunter; a lantern-jawed, devastatingly handsome (in a really macho way) monument to masculinity.

'Pretty' and Dean didn't inhabit the same universe.

Well, he was going to stop to all this 'pretty boy' crap here and now.

He was going to cultivate some seriously hardcore designer stubble. Once he had some full-on whiskers going on, then no douchewad deputy could be justified in calling him 'pretty boy'.

He just had to find his grooming kit; there was no need go all ZZTop to prove his undeniable grit. He knew he'd left the damn thing in here somewhere. Now where was it?

Oh yes, here it was.

Right here in the nightstand, between his 'Fontaine de Jouvance' moisturiser and 'Silk for Men' conditioning shampoo.

xxxxx

end