I was a little bit sad. My 80th birthday party celebrations had been cancelled. My three Interstate daughters and their families cancelled their flights, and nothing could be done about it.
On the morning, I gave myself breakfast in bed and bemoaned the fact that it would probably be a slow, quiet day. The sun was shining through my bedroom window as the first calls and text began to ‘ping’ on my phone. I wasn’t forgotten after all.
Suddenly the doorbell rings. I am still in my satin pink PJs, so I grab my housecoat smooth my hair, check I have my teeth in and make sure I am decent. All good. I rush to open the front door and there a lovely, handsome young man presents me with a beautiful floral arrangement which needs both hands.
At that moment the satin tie of the PJs lets me down, and my pants fall to the floor. I laugh and laugh, but the young man, with a startled look on his face, turned on his heels and ran.
I laughed all day after that. In fact, when I repeat this little tale, I still laugh as I realise, I couldn’t have scripted it better.
‘Flasher at 80.’
p.s. I did have my knickers on