Monday, February 17, 2014

The Old Scrote's Knicker Drawer

I guess it is the experience of most married men to be aware of the mystery which is their everloving's knicker drawer. You never went there, and she damned well didn't want you to. At best you caught a glimpse. Terrifying. And, again most of you married men reading this
will recall the occasion when your wife decided to have a clear-out of her knicker drawer. Again, mysterious, terrifying. You, of course, were banished from the bedroom for the duration. Clearly the drawer contained a much greater variety of bits and bobs than its name suggests, but that is enough about that. Job done, leaving a tidy drawer (one assumes) and a smug expression on the lady's face.
The reason I mention all this is that I have just had a blitz on the male equivalent: my sock drawer. Goodness, what an accumulation of tat! How can I have been such a slut over the years? Socks of every shade and shape, hole-ridden, crusty and pilled; horrible from every standpoint. The only consolation is that I found a couple of things that I had been looking for in vain over the years, including my father's ARP whistle (don't ask). Anyway, the drawer is now cleared of two-thirds of its contents, and what remains is very tidy and totally identifiable. The whole exercise gave me a fresh respect for my late wife, God bless her.
PS I don't apologise for the misleading title I gave to this piece: it was the only way I could be sure of attracting your attention.

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