Fifteen Seconds After I Lost My Bet With Stella

"What…why?" he spluttered, as I let my towel slip.

I groaned. "Aren't men supposedly more visual than verbal?"

He shrugged.

"So look. Don't ask."

Bearings

"Now we'll see the consequences if you don't buck up your ideas, Gail," boomed Bernard as he strode into the heart of the club. "Let's see how much respect you merit, even as a customer."

"Dad! I'll be waitressing, but not in a strip club!" She half-fainted, as her father looked on, more in sadness than anger.

"I suppose no-one's going to..." he sighed, just moments before she was whisked onto a sofa in a side-room.

"Perch yourself on that stool, sir," suggested the helper. Bernard's feet edged an expectant inch nearer the door. "At least now you see," he hissed. Gail couldn't budge.

Paying in Shovels

Damn and blast and flipperin' bloomin' heck. Another shovel gone. It's shovel time again, boys. Time to face Lionel at the shovel shop.

"Shovel please, Lionel," I said unobtrusively.

"Shovel, is it?" That's Lionel for you. "Another shovel?"

"Yes, another shovel." I pointed behind him to remind him of shovels.

"And just how do you intend to pay for this...shovel you say you want?" asked Lionel. He's so sardonic.

"Well, with these very-much-still in circulation Irish pounds," I said convincingly.

He wagged his finger unpromisingly, but he did it with a delightful swinging rhythm, so that was OK.

I was just thinking what a flipperin' bloomin' outrage it was that there weren't any other shovel shops, when suddenly Lionel offered a lifeline. "You could always pay in shovels."

"Oh fine, that would be great," I enthused, so he picked up three shovels and whacked me unconscious, quite hard.

"Best one yet," he cackled.