I'm feeling a little glum today after attending a fabulous Silver Wedding party last night. I managed nearly 15 years of marriage to my second husband (a total of 20 years together, six with the first), and I do sometimes wonder where I went wrong. Was it me? Was it them? But when something is not right, there's no point in slogging away at it when neither party is happy. As it is written, don't hang on to your mistakes just because you spent a long time making them! (Not that either of my marriages was a mistake. They were right at the time, and I got the most awesome child out of the second one, so no regrets on that score).
But this is all getting a bit grim, and you are here for entertainment, not to read about my misery, so, on to The Flannelette Pyjama Test!
Some years ago, pre-baby, I was doing a lot of work in London, staying with my friend Annabelle (not her real name). One evening, she invited an ex of hers round for dinner. He was in the flat when I got home from work, and the attraction was instant: a long, lean elegant man with swept back Nick Cave-style hair and beautiful hands. She set us up on a date a couple of days later, and commented as I left that I was wearing a Red Dress even though I was head to foot in black, as I usually am. I knew what she meant though! Robert (not his real name either) and I met in Stoke Newington Cemetery. Yes, we were a pair of dodgy old goths; so sue me! I can still remember the joy of that day. We walked round the cemetery for hours, then went into town and had a bit of dinner in Soho. Another mutual friend worked on the door of a small indie cinema close by, so we popped in there to see what was on. Jack let us in for free and we watched a very odd movie about Valley Girls and dinosaurs or something. That part's a bit of a blur. Anyway, we went back to his flat in Stockwell for a night cap, Annabelle's flat being just a tube stop away in Brixton. After chewing the fat for a little while longer I said 'Just throw me out whenever you want me to leave', at which point he replied 'I wasn't actually considering throwing you out', and the rest is dot dot dot.
I started staying at Robert's flat whenever I was working in London. It seemed to be going pretty well, but I should have read the signs beforehand. Annabelle has certain, shall we say, tastes, and is attracted to people who have similar tastes. At a risk of giving away too much information, I'm down with the usual spiciness of adding corsetry or footwear to bedroom activities, we're all adults here, right? But I had never come across a fetish as outlandish or full-on as this:
They weren't old grey pyjamas, they were pale blue with stars on, from La Senza, if I recall correctly. I hadn't slept in them, I'd put them on first thing in the morning to wander round the flat in. Robert was busying himself in the kitchen making breakfast before going to work when I shuffled in, blurry from sleep, feeling comfy and very un-sexy in my cosy PJs. He practically pounced on me right there on the kitchen floor and was very nearly late for work, but managed to tear himself, if not the PJs, away. I am under no illusion that it was the flannelette, and not what was inside, that was the cause of his ardour. I mentioned it to Anna, and she casually said 'Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that!'. Thanks a bunch, mate!! The main shock of it to me was that when I am in my cosy jammies it should be taken as a sign that I want to be left alone. Cuddles at the most. Even the great Pat Califia enjoys a night off in bunny slippers eating animal crackers in front of the TV. Flannelette pyjamas are not sexy, and are certainly not an indication that I want to get down and dirty on the cold kitchen floor of a council flat in Stockwell!
The relationship with Robert carried on for a few more months but then fizzled out, as these things tend to do when based mostly on sex. I fell pregnant (not by him!), and stopped working in London. I wish him well, and hope he found happiness.
But now it's a question I have to ask any prospective partner: do you have any fetishes outside the norm that I need to be aware of?! Hence, the Flannelette Pyjama Test.
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