Underwear

Great. That is just brilliant.
It's been three days now. I can't leave the house anymore without having five men in bright yellow jackets yelling obscene things at me.

Why? Just because my underwear, probably trying to recover its freedom, managed to escape my balcony where, hidden from the rest of the world, it was drying. With a little help from the wind, that traitor, all my panties did a magnificent gliding and landed in the middle of the construction site down my road.

I had to go and pick them up, and even if I had the presence of mind to put sunglasses and a hat on, the builders now recognise me. And now they know all about my passion for lacy things and don't miss an opportunity to comment on it, I can't even go out during day time to buy clothes pegs.
That is just brilliant.

Hopefully, they'll forget about it sooner or later. Especially since I'm leaving London tomorrow to visit the family for a few days.

Not before a major night out tonight, that is.
At the risk of sounding somewhat desperate, I really hope there will be something in store for me. It's been a whole six weeks since I last got any proper action. (Well there was the foot thingy with Mark, but that SO doesn't count as proper action, does it?)
And yes, I am about to lose my mind. I even caught myself checking out the builders. Of course, with my luck, they're all old, fat and bald.

I am just looking for someone not old, no fat, not bald, to see my underwear in a more normal environment (eg. on a bedroom floor).
Is that really too much to ask?