Gently does it. (h/t, Darleen) || I’m no structural engineer, but I question the choice of material here. || “They mostly come at night, mostly.” || Children are not nunchucks. Because apparently this fact isn’t sufficiently obvious. || When you want your seafood fresh. || We are always falling. || For fitness enthusiasts, a lower back workout. || What sorcery is this? (h/t, Julia) || Seating choice of note. || Typographical choice of note. || Today’s words are upscale dining experience. || Good doggo. || Dogs versus frisbees, the eternal struggle. || Joe Lincoln, decoy maker, 1926. || Inadvisable. || Destiny. || Bones detected. || Better than one, they say. || Jingle Bells. || And finally, festively, you want one and you know it.

Let’s turn to the pages of Slate, where left-leaning sophisticates mull the issues of the day. Among which, an obvious question for the woke and well-adjusted:

I (35, male) started dating someone (33, female) recently that I’ve really enjoyed connecting with and have found a higher level of chemistry with than anyone else I’ve dated. It’s exciting and has given me a chance to imagine a stable future with someone, something I’ve struggled to imagine in the past.

Ah, bless. And just in time for the holidays. Brings a tear to the eye.

But there’s something else that’s new for me this year that complicates things: I’ve started seeing sex workers.

At risk of seeming drearily conventional, the words stable future have suddenly taken on an ironic tinge. Still, the headline is memorable:

Do I Have to Tell My New Girlfriend I’m Going to Keep Seeing Sex Workers?

And hey, give the guy credit. He does a pretty good rhetorical dance:

To be clear, I’ve attempted to pursue it in the most ethical manner possible, being careful to consider everyone’s safety and consent. The moral issue of sex buying is a serious one for me, but one that I’ve ultimately come to believe can be ethical in the right context.

How immensely surprising.

I believe seeing a sex worker can make me a better partner. Not unlike seeing a therapist.

Because,

seeing a sex worker allows me to focus on myself.

Which, to date, has apparently been a struggle.

Time for an open thread, I think. Feel free to share links and bicker.

Best to watch the leash, madam. || Beverage of note. || Ah, Blighty. || They do, er, this better than you do. || Their difficulties were a mystery. (h/t, Fay) || On the matter of mincemeat. || Strange times. || Ancient ruins, reconstructed. || Pete Drake and his talking guitar, 1964. || At last, vegan Christmas dinner, for gamers, in a can. || Get a load of this guy. || These origami cicadas are better than yours. || Itsy bitsy. || The Maginot Line. (h/t, Things) || Visualising Moore’s Law in action, 1971 – 2019. || Close enough. || What could possibly go wrong? || “You can’t have Christmas without Star Trek, right?” || Unpriced goods on aisle four. (h/t, Damian) || And finally, the humans have some kind of force field.

Oh, and via the comments: 

But please, spare a thought for all those leftwing poets.

Via Holborn, and from the pages of the communist Morning Star, a headline of crushing cultural import: 

115 Poets Back Labour.

Yes, with an election looming, the full weight of the nation’s leftwing “poetry community” is being brought to bear, no doubt decisively. Inspired and uplifted by these leftwing poets and their immense cultural gravity, “our austerity-scarred society” will be “healed” with the balm of “social justice.” Being leftwing poets, there are of course demands attached, including an entirely selfless call for even more “state support for… producers of the arts and culture” – half a billion or so a year being deemed insufficient, you see – along with a “universal basic income pilot,” and “an end to the political scapegoating of the unemployed.”

No tittering at the back.

Readers who can recall a line of verse by any of the signatories will receive a drinks voucher.

And if searing leftwing poetry is your thing, you may wish to gargle the radical outpourings of Mr Roy G Guzmán.