Smelly Old Chicken Lady
My grandparents lived in Stornoway, I grew up in Oz. Trips to see them therefore lasted longer than an afternoon. When I was 11, my mum, my sister and I stayed with them for about 5 months. During this time, I was often dispatched over the road to help Bessie. Bessie was a smelly, slightly mad, very hairy and initially scary old lady. She kept chickens, loads of them. The road outside her house was literally covered in guano and the smell was staggering. Not being as sprightly as she used to be, it was my job to rummage through the byre and the gorse bushes to find the eggs. This was pretty laborious, and Bessie, who I quickly realised was not a mad old witch, but was actually quite sweet, was very grateful. Her gratitude manifested itself in mars bars by the tonne. Brilliant. If I'd had forceps I would have been extracting eggs for chocolate as soon as I could.
Anyway, my birthday loomed, and Bessie wanted to get me a present to repay my hard work. Ever the practical Scot, she opted for vests and y-fronts. So what? I hear you ask. The problem was the size. Being unsure, she bought me (11, 4.5 feet tall, perhaps 6 stone) the same size my grandfather (70, 6 foot 4, 19 stone) wore. My mum, for her own amusement, had me try them on. The vest came to my knees and the pants would not stay up. I had to keep them nonetheless.
I wish the story ended there....
A few months later, mum had been busy and the washing had not been done. I kicked up a fuss about not having clean pants. Mum's turbo memory kicked in....
I spent the whole day at school getting no end of stick for wearing y fronts that simultaneously hung over the waistband and dangled out the legs of my shorts.

No amount of length or girth would have filled them.
(I am the infinite monkey!, Fri 24 Sep 2004, 14:37, Reply)