We dropped the van off, and got slightly sidelined (a bottle of Vodka and Diet Cherry Coke saw to that), and so we agreed to meet up in the pub later that evening. Returning home, sure enough the clothes were all bagged up and ready to be loaded onto the now nearly full trailer. The next morning, and a mad dash ensued as final things were packed, checked, double checked, and important things forgotten. We left just after 11.
Cut forward to Monday. Having arrived safely, we agreed that I would take a nice long bath on Monday evening whilst 'stenders was on, and whilst running the bath I went to get some clean clothes from the bag now in TDT's box room. I opened the vacuum sealed bag to a loud hiss, and the clothes burst forth. My thought processes must have been along the line of...
"Ah, there's my red t-shirt, that'll do. Oh. My mistake, that's one of John's T-shirts. Ah, there's my big grey t-shirt, that's better. No, that's one of John's old t-shirts as well. Is this all John's stuff?"
I pick up a large blue t-shirt with torn collar
"That's one of my t-shirts. It's old and torn. I put that in a bag to go to the dump. Oh, please God no."
I pick up another old t-shirt. Panicking, I let out a "Fuck."
I check more old t-shirts of Johns. His primary school uniform.
"Fuck."
A holey pair of trousers greets me.
"I've got no Faaaackin' clothes," I shout.
"What do you mean, no clothes?" TDT asks from the bottom of the stairs.
"Well apart from this fucking mouldy old t-shirt, I have no faacking clothes," I shout.
"You must have some. What about the bag Suzie packed?" TDT enquired.
"It's full of John's old clothes. And a few of mine."
"Well that's ok, you can wear them then," came back the slightly satisfied reply.
"They're old, and were going to the dump."
"Are they wearable at all?" she said, slightly panicking.
"Yes, but only in private. They're old, torn and unpleasant. Faaack."
We stood in silence, me at the top of the stairs, TDT at the bottom, looking at each other. Anger subsided, and before we knew it, we burst into laughter. She came upstairs to check the damage, now safe in the knowledge I wasn't going to explode.
"Oh that's not too bad," she says, "you have 4 t-shirts here."
"Ok," says I, "I'll prove it." I took a bath, and returned to my diminished wardrobe. I had a slightly holey t-shirt I got in Florida in 2005, with a roll neck. It was too tight, too small and too unfashionable, and so I wore that.
"Fuck me Rik, you look like a condom," she said as I descended the stairs after my bath.
My point was made. I put on the clothes I'd worn for the past 2 days, and the following day the quest for clothes began.
2 weeks later and I nearly can last a week without doing washing. And I've still got the condom t-shirt, just to wear when she's upset with me and we need a laugh.
