Egg on my face

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself yesterday. Forty minutes early for work on a sunny day, with my actual packed lunch relegated to the boot, I stopped at McDonalds Newham for some frites et sprites.

I parked and looked down at myself to undo my seatbelt. Oh. That's quite a lot of chocolate particles smushed into my jeans. Dark chocolate. Ice white jeans. Should definitely not have started eating Ro's Thornton's egg on the way to work.

Just incase, I donned my trench coat to slink into the toilets to check for more. Right. It appeared I'd sat on a large amount too. Spilt it on the car seat. Then had a good sit. Dark chocolate. Ice white jeans.

Keeping the long queue of gangs waiting I sequestered one of the only two toilets for stain removal. Probably the first time a bottle of Evian has been in Newham, let alone so liberally sloshed round a toilet cubicle. Stains removed to more of a large wet pattern, I ran out and drove to work.

Then I unhappily shimmied down in the car, legs high up on the dashboard, wet patches as close to the heater as I could.

Got it nearly dry before going in, and put the rest down to dip dye or whatever fashion kids are on these days.