I am going to tell you a very embarrassing story.
It is a story that happened a good while ago that I decided should NEVER see the blog but having divulged to a couple of friends who laughed their bums off (thanks Vicky and Adam), and, with the wrong side of a bottle of wine in me, I have decided to share.
It was a Friday night. We were going out to dinner with some friends. Late in from work, I did the panicked quick shower that my busy life seems to be making all the more frequent (ah, half hour showers, how I miss you) before diving into the bedroom to throw some clothes on and head out the door again.
Hurrying, I grabbed my trusty pair of black jeans that were languishing on the chair, I pulled them on, selected a top and headed for the door where an impatient Steve was standing and tutting.
We made our way to the restaurant, Steve striding ahead (damn his 6’4” legs)*, me tripping over my heels behind him.
At the restaurant, we saw our friends and sat down.
Which is when the itching started.
The back of my left thigh, just at the top wasn’t right, it was itchy and irritating. I wriggled on my seat, all the time maintaining an air of sophistication and trying to listen intently to my friend as she told a story about… something….
After ten minutes of wriggling to know solution or relief, I decided that action must be taken and announced to the table that I was heading to the toilets.
Shutting myself in the cubicle, I ripped off my jeans in hope of finding whatever irritation was there. I was reading to kill any angry mosquito, cut out any scratchy clothes label and plaster any cut or graze.
And that is when I saw them.
No, not the ones I had put on that evening. No, an entirely different pair.
In my haste to get changed, I had simply pulled my jeans on, trapping the little lacy thong between them and my leg.
You'll have to guess whether the knickers were clean or dirty...
* I will just clarify, he is 6'4", not his legs!
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