Half my implements are under one sofa.
Half are under the other.
My knickers are under the second sofa.
My heart is still racing.
Oh, and I can't sit down.
The last bit probably would have happened anyway, but the other four wouldn't have done.
There are few things more likely to induce panic than the doorbell ringing when you are standing in the middle of the living room with your dress round your middle, no knickers, a set of extremely painful cane stripes on your bottom, with your implements and underwear spread across the room.
"Is it my mother? Is it a friend? Will they go away if I just ignore them? Will they think I'm not in? Will the car in the drive and the lights on give it away? Oh sh*t, oh sh*t, oh sh*t, there's really incriminating stuff all over the floor.., Help!"
90 seconds later, everything, including my knickers, and been kicked under the sofas, and I ventured towards the door, head full of reasons to explain away the strange man sitting on my sofa.
Turns out it was someone coming to read my meters. Panicking unnecessary. Luckily, they won't want to read the meters again for a while, as I have no desire to have a repeat of that feeling any time soon!
5 hours ago