It happens to the best of us. Right?

It is of course Sod’s law that, on that night where you go out with hairy legs, a semi formed moustache and those trousers that give you a slightly unnatural paunch but which are the cut of the season therefore you wear them regardless and try and suck it in as much as possible (oh come on, I know this is not just me) is the night that you encounter someone who’s beauty has the power to reduce you to tears. Pretty much the only consolation when this happens to you is the knowledge that, at some point, it’s happened to everyone. Even to the impossibly slim, leggy beauty that your wonder man has just walked off with, who was of course the person he was smiling at (not in fact you) as you sat there waving gormlessly back at him with an idiotic grin on your face. Or so you repeat to yourself as a mantra while ripping your napkin into little shreds and swiftly ordering another drink. It’s one of these stories that I’m about to relate.

It had all started as a friend’s birthday night out for Lauren. As per such stories, she’d insisted that she was not in the mood for finding romance; it was a Monday night, it was her time between waxes, she wasn’t at her best etc. Five minutes later, of course, her five foot four self was being swung around the dance floor by a six foot man.

Swept away by the romance (it was summer; we’ve all seen Grease) they ended up staying up all night talking and getting to know each other until they eventually fell asleep at his in the wee hours.

That’s when the problem struck. Waking up to the kind of mad hair and smudgy makeup that can only occur after a night of being spun around a dance floor in a sweaty club mid summer, Lauren decided sneaking out without letting him see her morning face was the best, nay only option. But… “I COULDN’T FIND MY TROUSERS.” Having kicked off her harems during the night, it was then on her to relocate them, without waking him. After a harried search in the unforgiving light specific to summer mornings and such situations, it was necessary for her to borrow his tracksuit bottoms. I’ve already mentioned the height difference, right?

Thus preceded her walk through town, wearing XL tracksuit bottoms, teamed with peep toe wedges and her going out glitz, at that hour of the morning reserved for the respectable. That move to the town centre had seemed like such a blessing the day before… “The good news is I ended up seeing him for about 3 months afterwards. And yes, I did get my other trousers back.”

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