I removed my shoes and stepped out of my trousers.
Should I keep my socks on? I thought, on balance, that I probably should.
I pulled down my underpants and wondered what to do with them.
It didn’t seem right to drape them over the chair, in full view,
as I’d done with my trousers, so I folded them up carefully and put them into my shopper.
Feeling rather exposed, I picked up the little packet that she’d left on the bed and opened it.
I shook out the contents and held them up: a very small pair of black underpants,
in a style which I recognized as “Tanga” in Marks & Spencer’s nomenclature, and made from the same papery fabric as tea bags.
I stepped into them and pulled them up. They were far too small, and my flesh bulged out from the front, sides and back.
The bed was very high and I found a plastic step underneath that I used to help me ascend.
I lay down; it was lined with towels and topped with the same scratchy blue paper that you find on the doctor’s couch.
Another black towel was folded at my feet, and I pulled it up to my waist to cover myself.
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