Mrs Spat's lost 45lb over the last year or so and it's got to the stage when she's adjusted all the trousers she can and new ones are required. For the last couple of months she's dragged me into local shops in an effort to buy some. One thing she hasn't got is a fat arse, so most that she's tried have been rejected as being too baggy about the bum.
Yesterday, at my suggestion I might add, we went to a big store a few miles away and she set to. She tried on 8 pairs and bought 2 - plus 4 pairs of shoes. I wasn't aware her feet had slimmed too.
Anyway, the ASSault.
Midway through the shopping torture, my guts gave a rumble. Whoops! thought I, need to go.
Not a problem, we were right next to the coffee shop and that had a bog. Off I trots, to find that the bog is a Ladies/Gents/Disabled one-stop shop, one large cubicle with one of those locks that can be operated by anyone but a coma patient.
Someone had obviously had an issue with it as it looked like it had taken a kicking (I blame the minorities
) and dangled a bit loose, not really giving a lot of confidence in your privacy. Needs must; I locked the thing as well as I could and let fly. I was right I did need to go, early rocket motors gave less thrust.
Towards the end of the burn I thought I heard the door being tried, nothing much I could do about it and at least it stayed locked. I finished up, did the admin, flushed, washed and dried courtesy of no-touch sensors and opened the door.
Outside there was a middle-aged woman, quite presentable, who must have been quite desperate as she nearly passed me in the doorway.
Poor cow, I glanced over my shoulder to see her head jerk back like she'd been chopped in the throat by a ninja.
One of my better efforts.