Let's see:

  • Getting your SO's name tattooed onto a prominant body part.
  • Thinking: "I can beat the train".
  • Jumping off the roof of your house using only a bedsheet for a parachute because you saw Wile E. Coyote do it on TV.
  • Believing that you won't get a hangover if you don't stop drinking.
  • Frying bacon without a shirt.
  • Eating beer and cereal. Especially stupid, if you actually have milk

Underwire bras. I'm sure someone thought they were a good idea at the time. Mostly, they are uncomfortable to wear for an entire day and if the underwire begins to migrate from its stitched casing, the ends poke into bits that were never meant to be poked with wire at all.

This is how my morning developed. Becoming more and more uncomfortable. Wire tip prodding flesh far too soft to be prodded. I tried and tried to push the wire back into place, well aware that jamming my hand down my blouse between my breasts on this insistent mission must've looked a bit strange to my work colleagues - apologise apologise - but I had to rid myself of the pressing pain.

Wire tip meets fingertip and the fingertip'll never win. A firmer tool was needed, and as luck would have it, there was a bread and butter knife on my desk. I used its handle to force the wire back into its casing. Ah, sweet relief. But wire being wire and bras being bras and me being me it wasn't long before the wire was on the move again, but I wasn't so disturbed because I kept the bread and butter knife handy and pushed the wire back into place for another burst of relief. Such a good idea.

This went on into the day, until the inevitable happened, I reached for my trusty tool and used it the wrong way around. It slipped off the tip of the wire and sliced my skin better than the wire ever had, leaving a bloody gash between my breasts. Clutching at my chest the dots of blood appearing on my shirtfront.

I looked at the knife, what a stupid thing to be shoving down my shirt, it just seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Things that seem like a good idea at the time...

O.K, maybe these things aren't such a good idea after all, but once that moment's past, you've got to look back with admiration on the freshness and enthusiasm you brought to them... That fervent belief that somehow, somehow, this frankly bizarre course of action was the correct one to take.

A while back, when I was a young and typically stupid student, I went on a suitably raucous night out with some friends. On arriving home at my shared flat, I retired to my extremely small and untidy box-room to disrobe. Having done so, and discarded my clothes where they fell, I suddenly decided that I had to leave my room to retrieve my boyfriend's most recent letter from the hall.
Now, having only very recently removed my clothes, it would seem logical that I would have little difficulty in finding them again in order to advance once more into the male-occupied territory which was our communal living space.

Unfortunately, due to my advanced stage of drunkenness, I was unable to locate these, or any other, clothes. And it was at this point that it struck. Without a doubt one of the most beautiful moments of my life. For the first time, suddenly everything made sense. I had a moment of total clarity, where I knew exactly the right course of action to take. From the heap of belongings on my floor, I plucked a Wm Low's plastic bag (defunct UK supermarket). Taking this flimsy receptacle of groceries, I punched three holes into the bottom of the bag- one for my head, and one each for my arms. I then put this new garment on, with the handles dangling by my hips like some form of plastic love-handles, and ventured out to retrieve my letter.
All went well until, when leaning precariously over (in my drunken state) to pick up the letter, the outer door to my flat opened to admit my two male flatmates and several of their friends.

While they stood rooted to the ground in dumbfounded amazement, I ran to the nearest nearest refuge (the bathroom) for shelter. Feeling suddenly very cold, I hid until my flatmates had retired to the living room in loud confusion.

It was only while shivering in the bathroom, with time to reflect on the wisdom of my brilliant idea, that I began to feel a sinking feeling that perhaps my beautiful moment of clarity had been misguided.

Needless to say, I received a fair amount of slagging from my flatmates, friends and various total strangers who heard the story. However, while I was admittedly very embarassed about the whole thing once I'd sobered up, I still feel nostalgic for that single moment in my life when I knew exactly what to do. I still remember that moment - and so do my flatmates!

Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time...

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