Undressing and getting ready for bed the other night I took off my bra and Husband burst out laughing. Which isn't really the reaction a girl hopes to produce.
It turned out that the tissues I'd stuffed in my cleavage earlier had stayed in place even when I'd removed my bra. (I know: too much information)
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On Monday mornings I get into work and get down on my knees - and try and work out why the modem isn't working.
This morning I had jiggled and twisted, pulled out and pushed in, switched off and switched on everything I possibly could jiggle, pull or switch and I still wasn't getting a connection.
There was only one thing for it: I'd have to phone one of the techy-men. Which is when I discovered we didn't have a phone connection either.
I used Husband's mobile, which happened to be in the car, to call him and ask him to report the fault to BT. It wasn't until I was back in the office - we don't get a signal inside - that I remembered we're not with BT. When I tried to call him again I discovered he was out of credit. That's when I adopted Garfield's 'I hate Mondays' pose and went back to bed (metaphorically speaking).
(Allegedly the weather was responsible.)