I have just had supper with a lovely lovely friend whose lovely lovely other half always meets her from the train station after dark. I've always wanted to be the kind of girl that boys felt protective like that towards. But I'm guessing that girls like that don't suffer the embarrassments I have in last week.
Last Tuesday I was merrily wending my down Chancery Lane, when a polite 'excuse me' alerted me to the fact that my skirt was tucked in my tights. At least I was wearing knickers.
Then on Thursday as I was heading up in the lift to my office in St Pauls I noticed the care label on my dress. Oh yes, you guessed it: I had commuted, via nursery, with my dress on inside out.
This morning as I strolled over Blackfriars Bridge a gust of wind blew the full skirt of my yellow dress up in a Marilyn Monroe fashion; but unlike Marilyn I did flash my orange knickers to the world.
Yes, it's ok knights no need to polish your armour.
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