On the verge....

I do love a well manicured lawn, and also (tenuous link to a story here) a well manicured, er, manicure....

When Doris and I had our shop (for any new readers, Doris is a bloke....and I have absolutely no idea why I call him Doris, so can't help you there) we were next door to a beautician's. It was one of those very fancy places where all the 'technicians' were sprayed Strictly Come Dancing orange, and everyone's make-up weighed more than they did....

I was very alarmed one day, when an ambulance arrived, and Sparkle (not, I'm almost sure of it, her birth name), one of the girls from the salon, was assisted into the back of it. She didn't appear to be in any pain, although she was clutching her chest. Her neon colouring seemed paler than usual.

Ten minutes later, one of the ambulance men climbed out of the van, and I was even more alarmed to see that he was crying.....until I realised he was laughing. It was bizarre.....

It wasn't until the next day, when I went to enquire, that I heard she'd called the ambulance because she thought one of her fake boobs had 'exploded', and she refused to go home with one side a 36DD and the other only a 36A!

It turned out she'd managed to spill some gel down her front - and had mistaken it for leaking silicon....

I still feel mildly hysterical when I think about it.....