Brief Encounter

Before I tell you this rather embarrassing story, let me give you a bit of background information.

As you know, I play poker and surf blonde into the wee small hours every night. When I finally log off, I find it difficult to just go to bed and go to sleep, so I often put the telly on and end up falling to sleep on the floor. A few hours later, I wake up just enough to undress and get into bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind me. In the morning, or what passes for morning for a poker player, I can remember nothing about it. Mrs Red is always telling me off for leaving my clothes all over the floor.

Anyway, Mrs Red was away for a couple of days, and I was ‘Home Alone’ After my usual falling to sleep on the floor performance, I got out of bed around noon, had a wash, put on a clean shirt and underwear, and then put on yesterdays jeans which were still lying where I had abandoned them the night before.

I had to pop into town to run a few errands. I wanted to get home in time to play the 2:30pm comp on Laddies, so I was rushing a bit. Never the less, I was conscious of an uncomfortable feeling in my nether regions as I bolted down my cornflakes.

As I drove into town, I was still absent-mindedly fiddling about with my bits and pieces, but no matter how I adjusted things, the ‘below decks’ crew refused to settle down. I walked around Tesco’s, poking and prodding, occasionally stopping to lift one leg sideways and shake it, and by the time I got to Argos, I was acting like I had a ferret down there.

Things finally came to a head in the post office, I was leaning on that little wooden rail, waiting my turn, and I could stand the discomfort no longer. I slipped my hand down the front of my trousers, grabbed hold of something that shouldn’t have been there, and yanked it out.

I found myself staring at the underpants I had been wearing the day before, they must have been left inside the jeans when I dressed that morning. I was so surprised to see them, that I held them up and turned them back and forth. Suddenly, I realised where I was and quickly stuffed then into my coat pocket.

It was then I noticed a rather refined lady looking at me with a strange expression on her face, I couldn’t decide if it was one of horror or admiration. Looking at it from her point of view, it must have seemed like one of the greatest feats of manual dexterity she had ever witnessed.

When I got home and retrieved the knickers from my pocket, another thought occurred to me. These were the ones that had been washed along with a pair of purple socks. The socks had run and left several dark dye stains, which could easily be mistaken for skid marks. The lady probably thought I was so prone to soiling my trolleys with violent attacks of the wet and windy’s, that I had become an expert in their removal.

I use a different post office now.