All households have their own ways of doing things. When we’re not in our own homes, we adapt to the ways of others…
I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel round and dripped into the spare bedroom. I went to open the window. This house has two handles per window, with a lock in the top one. I found the key, pulled the curtain, rolled up the blind and stretched to unlock the window.
Oh, yes. I did. You know what happened next.
In a moment worthy of Benny Hill or the Carry On films, the towel dropped to the floor leaving me exposed to the vulgar gaze of the rude and scoffing multitude. Arms stretched wide across the window pane, leaving nothing to the imagination.
I gathered the towel and my dignity and rolled down the blind before collapsing in anguish on the bed. Mortified. Hoping that the verdant garden would have preserved some of my modesty.
Of course I had to tell. I couldn’t have made it through the day without sharing the horror.
“Oh,” squeaked Nana as she was bent double laughing, the tears tripping her, “that man behind has a bad heart…”
I spent the next few days listening out for sirens