Today I am experimenting (will I ever learn?) with a new pair of “control top” tights and an anti frizz shampoo and conditioner which is supposed to smell like “watermelon burst” but (having been liberally applied in the shower) is emanating an aroma not dissimilar to my compost bin which is way overdue for emptying.
I have a feeling around my torso reminiscent of the time I hurriedly dressed and ended up on my way to work in my 11 year old’s tights. It took a fair amount of effort to get these on today and I now I realise I didn’t think this one through properly. There may be extended absences from my workstation when I need to visit the facilities.
If you don’t hear from me again, follow the subtle smell of rotting fruit and you will find me trapped in a cubicle with my hosiery wrapped around my knees.