Sally's not a penis

Going to work sucks, right? The day-job is a grind. And the commute is Hellish, especially if you rely on the trains around here... 


But lucky me, I found a small group of people on my train (heretoforth referred to as 'train friends'), with whom I share crosswords, occasional singing and general hilarity. One of these is Sally, a super-gardening, French-speaking, dog-loving, piano-playing train friend who provided much entertainment by recounting the historical diary she'd been asked to translate. But that's by the by. 


Sally was subjected to my wittering about clay, about writing, about the year's trials and tribulations, and she always managed to stay awake. One day she gave me - FOR FREE - a beautiful dahlia, as she'd managed to grow too many for her lovely garden. Well, what happens when you do a potter a favour? Exactly. Poor old Sally had appeared enthusiastic when I waffled on about the shape of my carnivorous plant, and how it'd make a great single-stem vase...

Here's the base. Draw your own conclusions as to why this may have been necessary.


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