On Saturday, BH was the proud owner of the Kingfisher calendar. I say 'was the proud owner' because it doesn't bring him joy anymore. I scoffed at it so much and forced him to concede that while it wasn't cheap and smutty, it certainly wasn't art, or hot either, for that matter!
Also told him in no uncertain terms that there was no way I would allow him to put it up on our walls. Hello, don't want my house to look like a licqour store! Besides the maids may think he's a Shiny Ahuja in the making. I think that devious line of argument made him wearily give up on it completely.
Poor BH, the calendar now lies in its original wrapper at the top of the cupboard. He promises to give it to someone who will appreciate it more. Like a hormonally-charged teenager for example!