Jim jams
When I was 19, I moved into my first own flat. It evolved into the usual debauched swampy sort of place that most people end up in when they realise that running a home effectively is not as easy as Mother makes it look.

Anyway, one fine day my good friend Bob* came to stay for tea, and for me to write an essay for him, which I did. He had decided to stay the night and had therefore brought with him some clean but wet clothes to wear to college the next day.

After a pleasant evening I retired to bed (alone) and donned my v. sexy all-in-one zip-up-the-front fleecy electric pink jim-jams, similar to a babygro. I provided Bob with a duvet and he slept on the couch. Come the morning Bob was up first and went for a bath. I was still fast asleep. All of a sudden, Bob was banging frantically on my bedroom door screaming “FIRE FIRE FIRE!!!!!” I leapt out of bed and ran to see what was going on. I assumed he had set the toaster alight or something. What he’d ACTUALLY done was drape his wet clothes over a chair and pushed it up close to my gas fire to dry them off, then gone off for a bath….. the twat. The whole living room was in flames and the smoke was unbelievable… luckily I had a phone in my bedroom and called the fire brigade.

Now, like most red-blooded women, I quite like firemen. And I assume most firemen like 19 year old girls in their nightclothes. However if you cast your mind back I was wearing THE most unsexy bed garments ever and was absolutely mortified. They came racing up the stairs and ordered Bob and I to go outside and SIT IN THE FIRE ENGINE. By then, all the neighbours were out gawping and Bob and I were covered in soot from our feeble attempts to put the flames out. I have *never* been more ashamed, before or since (apart from the time I had a close encounter with the police www.b3ta.com/questions/police/page1/ … actually what is it with me and men in uniform?!)

*Not his real name. He has a very unusual real name which would give him away.
(Mad McMad, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 14:45, Reply)