After a pleasant man and
wife day out doing some shopping, I prepared myself for the last gym session
before Christmas, gathering bits of kit from here and there, including hauling
my shorts out of the ironing basket, hampered by my wife, still in playful mood,
running interference (as they say in American football), prodding me in the back
and hurrying me up; eventually I got my kit on and only on arriving at the gym
and mounting the treadmill did I realise I was wearing my short pyjama bottoms
which, although the same navy with pale blue trim, were unlikely to fool the
other, more professionally attired, users but I toughed it out consoled by the
thought that at least I would be ready for bed before them.
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