Keeping up appearances

A friend at work, Barbara, remarked yesterday that 'these things always seem to happen to you'. I'm not sure if that's true, but Saturday night, one of 'these things' certainly happened.

We had invited six people to dinner. Six people who hadn't previously been round to our house. For some reason I wanted to give the impression (to people who probably already know) that we are not slobs. No way! We live in military order, everything in its proper place, the carpets aren't encrusted in dog and cat hairs, there are not colonies of spiders inhabiting every room, I clean my windows on a regular basis, my fridge doesn't have unidentifiable objects moulding quietly in tupperware pots. So, what I can only describe as a frenzied cleaning session went on for days beforehand.

The first three duly arrived (five minutes previously we'd suddenly looked at the cooker and started brillo padding large wodges of grease off the sides)and we greeted them warmly. There inevitably followed the slightly awkward pauses, in between remarks about the weather, as we shuffled round, doing our hostessy things. Once drinks were poured, (and in my case, gulped down) we started to relax.

Then, into the room wobbles Flake, our fourteen year old cross collie dog. Flake is a darling, but she has some problems. She's deaf, dementia ridden, smells like a cess-pit and eats shit on a regular basis.

Dave was the first to notice. 'Oh look, she's got a piece of loo roll attached to her foot'. I went over and lifted the paw, and it suddenly dawned on me what it was. With the greatest subtlety, I pulled it off, but that tell-tale ripping sound echoed round the room.

Dave started to laugh. 'That's not loo roll. What's she doing with a sanitary pad on her foot?'

'Oh,' I said hesitantly, 'she gets them out the bin and chews them.'

Something which we take for granted as happening on a regular basis suddenly didn't sound very normal. And it was at this point I realised that the remainder, such as there was, would be on the doormat, in full view of the last couple, who hadn't arrived yet.

'Urghh, that's disgusting.'

What could I say? For us, it was a fact of life.

By then we were all rolling around laughing and Flake was looking embarrassed, but not sure why she should be.

'Thank God Colin and Barry weren't here to see it,' I shrieked, still curled up in hysteria. Dave pointed out they probably wouldn't have known what it was, but they were the ones I most wanted to impress and I would have been devastated.

By 2am I didn't care whether they thought we were slobs or not. My meal had been a success, though my mother-in-laws trusty 'shrimp mould' hadn't slipped out of the tin quite as beautifully as it should have done and resembled something akin to pink cat sick.

But still, everyone ate it heartily. And the 'incident' has been the source of huge amusement the length and breadth of the village.