I was writing email just now to the two friends with small children who've visited me recently:
When I got out of the shower this morning, I found an Old NavyTM hoodie, size S, draped over the foot-board of my bed. (Which could be the first line of a mystery story, if I weren't about to spoil it by explaining that the OT was going through my closet to set out something for me to wear today, between those occasions when I needed to stand up in the shower, and thus to call upon her to look in on me, lest disaster strike.)
At which point (and I mean literally, just as I typed the closing paren) the OT knocks on my door:
Me: Come in! OT: Did I... Oh! You hung it up for me! Before starting the email, I had, in fact, put it on a hanger, hung it off the front of my second tray table (which had mysteriously reappeared in my room the day after the Martinet Incident), and taken a couple of iPhone pictures, intending to put one on the web and include the URL in the email. Me: Oh, that's yours? I was just writing email to the people with children who've visited me recently....
Meta, added after writing everything except this paragraph: Worth noting that when I came up with the title, "Good for a Chuckle", I was planning on ending the story here. But at that time the rest of the story was still happening, in a different mental thread, and only after reaching the original intended ending did I realize that the story didn't really end there, and wrote the part below. At which point I briefly considered changing the title to "A chuckle, with a side of mindfuck". But decided to insert this paragraph instead.
At about the point when she said "Oh! You hung it up for me!", I found myself thinking Oh, hey, she's kinda cute.
Followed by Jesus H Christ. Have I really gotten so innured
to people seeing me naked that I can be helped in
the shower by a young woman who is seriously cute, and not even notice‽
Which is probably all for the best, but still kinda disturbing.