It is 10.45am on Thursday morning and I am in my white pyjamas and dressing gown sitting at my Mac writing up an artist submission letter for a Bursary Award. The kids are outside in the sunshine playing on a neighbours bouncy castle. Audrey comes into the study to ask me if she can have a can of Coke because even she knows that bouncing while high on caffeine is much more fun.
When I say no she informs me with a hint of a smile that the dog has escaped out through the open front door. I run out and see Molly 20 feet up the road sniffing the neighbours dog who's twice the size of her. When I call her name she runs further away up the road so I run after her with my dressing gown billowing out and my feet bare. Croagh Patrick has nothing on this I can tell you.
Eventually I catch up with her and she sits down refusing to move. I change my tone of voice from strict to sweet and playful even though I believe I could manage a pretty good drop kick down the road and over the roof of our house if I knew for sure the neighbours weren't watching.
So I playfully call her name as we trot back down the road and into our drive not daring to look around me to see if anyone is looking. It is when I step into the house and gather myself that I notice my white vest has slipped down on the left hand side and I've just run the length of our road outside with my left breast exposed.