Don't think you got securiteh!
I've bought some new clothes lately from a supermarket chain. I won't tell you which one but it rhymes with Bainsburys.
Anyway, I was quite happy with my new little tops, new dress, new leggings (yes, I know. A year ago I would have sliced my own arm off before going back to that fashion item so beloved in the 80s, but ... they just make so much sense and they're very comfortable!) and a couple of new jumpers.
I had a barbecue to go to on Saturday in Brighton and thought this the ideal time to model my new dress, not least because it isn't very figure hugging and I could eat a cow and not have it show on my waist. Bonus! So I pop on my cropped jeans and the dress and to my horror, the plastic security tag was still on there! I then remembered that, the day before, I beeped as I went through the doors at the supermarket rhyming with Bainsburys and was willingly showing my proof of purchase receipt and the clothes I just bought in an effort to look like an honest and sincere paying customer, which of course I was. Security guy asks me "how many items of clothing have you got in this bag?" and I reply "about 8". Then he says "ah, that's okay" and waves me out.
So I go back to the supermarket the following day and explain my predicament (i.e. that I didn't want to look like a shoplifter at a sophisticated barbecue) and could they please remove this tag from the dress, which they did. 36 hours of hassle-free wearing ensued for me last weekend - me dirtily stopping out for far longer than I meant to, obviously.
All fine and dandy until I got dressed for work the other morning. Jeans - check. Sandals - check. Vest - check. Jumper - che.... Nooooo! Would you believe I found another bloody security tag on my new clothes! So now I have to go to the supermarket - again - to remove the damn thing for fear of beeping like a mad thing whenever I go through security. Buggerbumpootits and arse!
[NB: the following sentence contains a flourishy punchline that Ronnie Corbett on his over-sized leather chair would be proud of.]
And the funny thing was ... I only went in for a pint of milk!
[cue self-satisfied laugh wearing trademark big glasses and comfy Pringle sweater whilst rocking back in over-sized leather chair to a Ronnie Hazelhurst woodwind sting]
Anyway, I was quite happy with my new little tops, new dress, new leggings (yes, I know. A year ago I would have sliced my own arm off before going back to that fashion item so beloved in the 80s, but ... they just make so much sense and they're very comfortable!) and a couple of new jumpers.
I had a barbecue to go to on Saturday in Brighton and thought this the ideal time to model my new dress, not least because it isn't very figure hugging and I could eat a cow and not have it show on my waist. Bonus! So I pop on my cropped jeans and the dress and to my horror, the plastic security tag was still on there! I then remembered that, the day before, I beeped as I went through the doors at the supermarket rhyming with Bainsburys and was willingly showing my proof of purchase receipt and the clothes I just bought in an effort to look like an honest and sincere paying customer, which of course I was. Security guy asks me "how many items of clothing have you got in this bag?" and I reply "about 8". Then he says "ah, that's okay" and waves me out.
So I go back to the supermarket the following day and explain my predicament (i.e. that I didn't want to look like a shoplifter at a sophisticated barbecue) and could they please remove this tag from the dress, which they did. 36 hours of hassle-free wearing ensued for me last weekend - me dirtily stopping out for far longer than I meant to, obviously.
All fine and dandy until I got dressed for work the other morning. Jeans - check. Sandals - check. Vest - check. Jumper - che.... Nooooo! Would you believe I found another bloody security tag on my new clothes! So now I have to go to the supermarket - again - to remove the damn thing for fear of beeping like a mad thing whenever I go through security. Buggerbumpootits and arse!
[NB: the following sentence contains a flourishy punchline that Ronnie Corbett on his over-sized leather chair would be proud of.]
And the funny thing was ... I only went in for a pint of milk!
[cue self-satisfied laugh wearing trademark big glasses and comfy Pringle sweater whilst rocking back in over-sized leather chair to a Ronnie Hazelhurst woodwind sting]