IT was somewhat later than my usual showering hour, because I had done the fireplace first. Thus I was in my fireplace cleaning clothes, which are not the smartest, but suitable for cleaning out fireplaces.
The plan was to undress, shower, then redress in clothes less Charlie Chaplinesque, and so far all was going according to that plan; I had my dirty clothes in a bundle on the floor, my ‘nice’ clothes neatly folded on the bathroom stool, and me in the altogether ready to step into the shower.
At that point the dog that is not ours, namely Lucy, went ‘YIP.’ Yip means someone we know is at the door, and is completely different from rabid roar that escapes her throat when she thinks a burglar, or better still, a stray cat, is in the vicinity.
I dithered nakedly. My bathrobe was in the bedroom, which would necessitate a streak of several metres of fully exposed Jos, in order to get to both bedroom and bathrobe.
Perhaps it was Barbara, who has leave to enter our house without knocking. That would be fine, Barbara is not easily frightened by naked flesh. Or it could be José, who considers that he has leave to enter our house without knocking, and in front of whom I only wish to appear fully clothed.
Perhaps I should pretend to be out. ‘Yip’ went Lucy again, thus scuppering the pretence of absence.
Should I risk it? What would you do?
