The miracle of coming to believe that I am worth lovely things!
So, there I was, dressed for bed and ready to slip under the duvet – when, bending over to pat the dog, and, with ghastly suddenness, was assaulted by a veritable fusillade of ominous ripping sounds. Sending a trembling hand on a Search and Rescue Mission resulted in skin, more skin, yet more skin – and, if you’ll excuse the phrase, bog-all pyjama material: Yes, the rotten borough of my pj bottoms had finally burst asunder, had been cloven from arsehole to breakfast-time, leaving me bare-cheeked and humiliated!
I could, I suppose, have wielded needle and thread and sutured up the gaping incision – but, such an undertaking would have been completely pointless given the dire state of the garment and its extreme age.
But also, if I am strictly honest, I rather fancied buying myself some…
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