Standards are slipping
Nana reckons that scatological humour is purely a masculine enterprise, if not a lifelong mission, at which her sons and grandsons excel.
So you can bet your arse that I did not waste an eighth of a second to capture this rare moment of Rabelaisian mockery of men and their obsession for all willy-related matters.
Nana strictly forbade me to post this on blipfoto.
The 300 km between us is therefore extremely comforting. The very long arm of the law, with the slap at the end of it, cannot reach me here!