If I were suspicious I'd think I was - no, wait, I mean superstitious - headed for bad luck.
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Because of our enormous new bed we're having to replace my bedside cabinet. I've bought one from ebay and it turns out to be a lot smaller in every way than the original. So this afternoon I started the cull of my knicker and sock drawer.
Any socks with holes - even if I like them very much - have been binned as have tatty knickers but I still have three piles: best, everyday and worn but comfy. Try as I might I am unable to think of an occasion that would warrant me wearing my magic squeeze-you-in-till-you can't-breathe-and-then-some-more knickers though.
I mean, how likely is a date with George Clooney? Seriously.
(By the way, what's wrong with this picture? That's right: no bulging over the top.)