I was just doing some minor fence repairs. Basically, whoever built the fence originally had used a nail gun and these small one inch nails. They did the job for the short term but after a while those little nails worked loose, meaning that the palings tended to come adrift. Accordingly I'd check it every few months and hammer some decent nails in. Any paling that was loose or suspect copped a couple of two inch nails. Those wouldn't be pulling free any time soon.
Half way through I suddenly found myself holding the handle of the hammer, the head lying on the ground at my feet. This wasn't a long term problem. I'd just buy a decent handle and attach it. The thing was, I wanted to finish the fence while I was in the mood. The obvious answer was to go next door and borrow Jack's hammer.
I strolled over to Jack's place and found the front door open. I just banged on it and yelled "Hey, Jack."
Things went a little screwy at that point. There was a startled yell from a room to my right and this young lad popped out of the room into the hallway. He took one horrified look at me and took off running, down the hall, through the kitchen, and I heard the back door bang behind him. In my imagination I could hear feet beating a rapid retreat into the distance.
Curious I stepped into the room so recently vacated. There I beheld Patricia, more commonly known as Trixie. Her hair and her clothes were a little dishevelled and she was blushing slightly.
"Trixie," I said politely, nodding to her.
"Please," she said. "It's Patricia. Trixie is such a childish name."
I nodded and then asked the question.
"What was that in aid of?" jerking my thumb in the direction of the fleeing swain. (Assuming he was her swain.)
"That was Andy," she said. "He assumed that you were my father and acted accordingly. Daddy told him that if he caught him putting the moves on me Daddy was going to use him to fertilise the new bushes he intends to plant. He decided not to be caught."
"It seems that your boyfriend isn't very brave, is he?"
"He isn't either of those things," she said quite cheerfully, leaving me confused. She must have noted the confusion as she went on to explain. "He's not very brave and he's not my boyfriend. He used to be but I dropped him, partly because he couldn't stand up to my father and partly because he's got more arms than an octopus and he's somewhat careless about where he puts them."
"If he's not your boyfriend what was he doing here? He's not stalking you, is he? If so say the word and I'll help Jack dig the grave."
"No," she laughed. "There's no need for that. I can handle him. He was just around to try to persuade me into taking him back as my current boyfriend or, failing that, to talk me into bed again."
I raised my eyebrows at that and she blushed.
"That came out wrong. It was the talking part I meant by again. I haven't been to bed with him. Too juvenile for my liking."
"Said she from the grand old age of eighteen," I observed.
"Please," she said, waving that comment off as a nothing thing. "Everyone knows that girls mature a lot earlier than boys."
"And besides, a little bit of slap and tickle with a boy your own age is harmless, right?"
"We were doing no such thing," she said with a haughty sniff.
"Uh-huh, but you got your buttons out of sequence," I told her, reaching out and flicking the top button of her blouse, a button lacking a matching button-hole.
"Allow me," I said, when she reached for her buttons to start fiddling.
I started flicking the buttons open.
"You'll find it easier to do them up properly if you slow down and straighten your blouse first."
She gave me the evil eye but didn't try to stop me. It didn't take long to undo a few buttons and I eased the sides of her blouse just a little further apart.
"I see he managed to undo your bra. Tsk, tsk."
"No he didn't," came the quick reply and I laughed.
"Yes, he did," I said, lifting the cups off her breasts. It was a front opening bra and I was able to just move the cups to either side. "What didn't get done was you fastening the bra again."
