Embarrassing does not adequately describe my predicament.
I was separated by the open hallway from modesty and my bathrobe and someone was at the door.
My choices were: 1. Pretend I’m not in – blown by the dog yipping.
2. Hope it’s Barbara – preferred choice, or
3. If it’s not, then it must be José – not at all a preferred choice!
Lucy yipped again, and whoever it was knocked on the front door. My razor-sharp Sherlock Biggs mind reasoned that whoever it was had remained outside the front door, thus I had time to get from shower room to bedroom without being discovered as naked as the Emperor – he of the New Clothes.
With a muttered ‘Carpe Diem’ I fled the shower room in all my natural glory to find refuge and my bathrobe in the bedroom.
I flung on the bathrobe, and with an air of composure that had been completely missing up until now, approached the open front door.
A small and cheerful Spanish man stood on the step. ‘You want some firewood.’
More of a statement than a question. ‘You said you had enough for four years. It is four years. You said come in March. It is March.’
He was right on all counts, but how could he possibly have remembered?
But more importantly, how glad I am that he had remained outside the door, thus unaware of the ‘To Streak Or Not To Streak’ decision that I had had to make!