No, not a lisped invitation for a bit of karaoke
but a rummage through the darkest recesses of the storage
facilities for my nether garments. Mes pantalons!
I invite you at your peril to enter the strange and eerie world of
GRANNY LONG DOG'S KNICKERS!
Unless you are of a nervous disposition in which case
clear off and find something else to do with your time.
It all started off as a normal sort of day - a quick cup of tea,
the first check of emails, a freshen up with a damp flannel
and then off into the bedroom to chose what to wear starting
with clean undies of which there appeared to be none
so I started to dig deep in the hope that something would turn up.
|Arsenal - 7 always was my lucky number.|
It was then that I saw it, half hidden under a pair of Arsenal football
socks (don't ask) at the back of the drawer.
An aptly named team if you add the words "hanging out" after the name.
However, at that self same moment, I found myself being used as a channel
for the disembodied voice of my mother, just like in a seance,
She boomed out, "What is this thong (thing) doing in your
Drawer of Drawers?" Disapproval and horror in every syllable.
She didn't mean it, I'm sure, in the sense of "Holy of Holies"
but there again maybe she did as some of my favourite pairs
have indeed seen plenty of action in their day and
are sadly a little moth eaten in places.
I can honestly say that, hand on heart, I know not from whence came said
article (must have been some party) but I knew exactly where it was going.
With a phenomenal turn of speed unusual for a woman of my age the item in
question was hoisted into place quicker than you can say knife.
Knife was, however, exactly the word I used several seconds
later when I discovered that this particular style of garment
did little to endear itself in terms of either comfort or warmth.
So it's back to the tried and trusted, it's the black widow's wee-ds for me or
as I sometimes think of them - garments for women who cry at both ends,