It was early evening and a fairly routine enquiry took me to a modest house on the edge of town. Little did I know what horrors lurked behind the peaceful facade of idyllic suburbia.
After knocking on the door I noticed, through the frosted glass, someone approaching wearing what appeared to be a close-fitting brownish ensemble. When the door opened, however, I was confronted by a naked Rodney Dangerfield.
Well, it wasn't Rodney Dangerfield although he certainly had more than a passing resemblance to him. That wasn't the first thing that occupied my thoughts, no, it was the shock of all that wrinkly skin on display. You will recall, Dear Reader, that I said he was
*naked* right?
Okay, technically, he wasn't completely naked either but his very brief briefs, or possibly a male g-string (I didn't want to continue with further enquiries in that direction thank you), didn't really conceal a lot. I don't know what the point of that little bit of cloth was, it certainly wasn't for "modesty".
And what are you supposed to say when a more or less naked 63yo man cordially invites you into his house?