Their protest is foiled

A chav worker walked up to us.

"What's up here, ha ha... nice tits on all ya"

Mum and Susan gasped while mum slapped the worker in the face.

"Ay, cheeky bird, it's Tesco policy that nude ladies get a free honk" as he grabbed mum's breasts firmly.

"No it's not," mum countered while she got a free hand mammogram.

"Yeah it is, here it is." the sleazy worker moved on to Susan, who then gasped.

"Excuse me, anyone?" she shouted out to the indifference of the staff while she got a chest massage. Just as the man was about to give me my turn mum piped up and led us out.

"The badge was 'Jonathan', write the address for us to sue..."

We walked down our street and I suddenly remembered my predicament. As we passed by my house I asked mum if I could get dressed again.

"Sure thing, buttercup," she said with a Cheshire grin, "but only if you ask our neighbours to make us tea since we still haven't got any."

"But Jake's at the house, and he doesn't know how to cook..."

"No, sweetie," she said almost bursting at the seams, "the Lees."

My heart sank. Across the street from us lived a sweet black-haired lady by the name of Barbara Kay Lee, although everyone called her Kay for short. Kay was a real sweetheart, tender and caring, but could not for the life of her cook a single dish correctly. Her food was always overcooked and unseasoned, with some ungodly combination of pasta, baked beans, mince, or cheese. Kay lived with her son Lee - yes, Lee Lee - a good chap who always sported glasses and short blond hair with a mild spike in the fringe.

"But mum, I don't think Kay can actually cook."

"Now, now," mum and Susan were cracking up, "if you want to go back to your prudish ways, have at it, but you'd better not also start discriminating based on professionalism in the kitchen," professionalism? More like mere aptitude!

Sighing, I thought between my rock and my hard place.