Aunty Some Like It Hot
Back in the day Aunty Tiffany Wronski was a flapper. A flapper's flapper, was what they called her. She was a man's woman, if you know what I mean. When she entered a room, conversation would stop, heads would turn. She never wore perfume, her natural scent alone was aphrodisiacal. And yes, as you can tell from the picture, Tiffany was a natural blond; the carpet matched the drapes. Men bought her jewels just to get a moment's face time. Also, quite the dancer. But, only outdoors or in a well ventilated large auditorium (for reasons which shall be revealed later). 

While she was attractive to all men, and attracted to most herself, she was a practical gal. Any guy who was going to get around the corner with her had to have the moola and prospects for more. Tiffany had a heart though. She would say, "You might as well fall in love with a rich guy, honey. So set your hook for the kind of fish you want on your plate."

The thing about Tiffany, however, for all her allure and kavorka, she was, well, a gas bag. Not a gas bag, as in she was talkative. But a bag of gas. As in, "Who stepped on a duck?" Fortunately for her, she naturally took to the outdoors and it was never a problem until she married and the hapless fellow had to contend with the harsh reality of living in close quarters with his offputtingly scented paramour.

As eager as they were to wed her, they were just as eager to escape. That cost them. She married several times and in her later years had amassed quite a fortune in her own right.

In her dotage she was quite the philantropist. Huge amounts donated toward research; air quality issues. Her body couldn't be buried underground; instead she rests eternally in a sealed crypt with an eternal flame at the door, powered by Aunty herself. As the pun goes it was in her genes, and in her jeans. RIP Tiffany.

Here she is at her best . . .

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