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During an innocent visit to some friends, some time ago, I was relating a tale of how another friend's husband would come over and play my son's PC games CDs and work himself into a frenzy, trying to complete the levels in advance of my (then) 8 year old, so that he could come across as "superior" (heh, heh). Of course, anyone with any experience of PC games and 8 year olds will know that this was futile, as the conversation would usually go something like this:

"Adult"[?]: What level are you on on "Daemon Lizard Spawn II"?
"Child": Completed it
"Adult"[?]: WHAT? You can't have, I was playing it all night...I got to level 35
"Child": Did you get the golden pineapple?
"Adult"[?]: ...uh...no...
"Child": Well, it's on level three and you have to have it to complete the game; didn't you bargain with Grok the Bland?
"Adult"[?]: ..Grok the....who...?
"Child": Grok is the Panda Elder who lives in the Bamboo Forest; you did find the Bamboo Forest, didn't you?
"Adult"[?]: What? Oh, uh...yes, yes (lying now) but how did you finish the game if I was playing it all night?
"Child": I went to my friend's house last week; he has the Daemon Lizard Spawn II deluxe edition and we completed it then...

...and so it goes on. Poor kid has to go to a pal's house because when this guy is visiting he can't get near his own game. Y'know: "Just let me finish this level...Shhhhh....Ack! You made me lose a life..." and so it goes on. My son piped up that he wasn't letting this guy play on any more of his games because he didn't take care of them, left them out of their cases, got them covered in cigarette ash, etc. I was agreeing with him and saying how it bothers me when others don't respect your stuff.

At the time, I was sitting on a huge sofa covered with a cotton throw. I got up from my seat, or at least, tried to, when my toe ring caught on a thread. R-r-r-i-i-i-p-p-p-p-p! I sat down again very quickly, looked pained and confessed to my hosts what had happened. They took it in good stead, saying that the cats often pulled threads in the soft furnishings and I was not to concern myself.

Relieved at this attitude, I then explained that now I couldn't stand up as the jewellery on my foot had become so tangled in the thread that I couldn't free it. (I was rather embarrassed at this point). The husband passed me a penknife and told me to cut the thread. I was, of course, mortified! Cut someone else's throw? I couldn't possibly...but I really needed to go to the bathroom, and I couldn't sit there all night. (May I point out here, that at no time did it occur to me to just take the ring off my toe! D’oh!)

So I cut the thread. "Now tie it in a granny knot," the husband said. I didn't know what a granny knot was. "Then tie it again to make a reef knot." A what? I was completely confused whilst they were completely amused at my predicament. Eventually, knot-craft lesson over, I gave the (folded) knife to my son to pass back. "No," said the husband, "just throw it."

Oh dear. I am not a terribly good shot. What followed was the fastest I had ever seen a 17 stone guy move in all my life! Luckily, the heavy metal missed him, but it got a picture on the wall and a couple of cups as it hit the coffee table on the way down. Everyone was laughing fit to burst; I was horrified. At this point, I just buried my face in my hands and contemplated morphing into the furniture...forever.

"Are you OK?" my ever-genial hosts inquired.
"No-o-o-o-o-o!" I wailed, "I'm really embarrassed!"

Again, I was soothed and told that it was fine; accidents happen - no harm done. I announced that I was never again going to bemoan others who didn't respect another's property (you can imagine how silly I felt, bearing in mind the topic of conversation that had preceded this series of catastrophes). Regaining my composure, I rose confidently from the sofa and trod directly onto the plate of Marmite on toast belonging to one of the kids. There I was, sitting on a cream cotton sofa, having ripped the throw over to shreds and "rearranged" the room with missiles, with sticky brown goo and bits of toast adhered to the soles of my bare feet. A wet kitchen towel was produced, and sheepishly I cleaned up the mess...

...I could still hear them laughing as I left...