There was nothing but sunshine and perfect peace around when DEBORAH STEPHENS first sat down to her picnic. They say that after seven years even the best of husbands (or wives) are inclined to get an itch, but only seven short minutes had gone by on this occasion when an itch attacked our Debbie.
She’d just got herself comfortably settled on her tummy— without lying on the strawberry jam sandwiches—when she found herself idly scratching her leg. Debbie has a very nice leg, but she doesn’t often also have an itch.
Initially, let’s face it, she wasn’t all that bothered. She was, in fact, scratching her leg fairly absent-mindedly, until quite suddenly the cause of the itch actually bit her.
“Help!” yelled Debbie. “It’s ants with long fangs!”
No help in the form of, say, an anteater being around at the time, Debbie panicked and dived headfirst under the picnic tablecloth, where she waved two shapely legs very wildly in the air—until a sense of dignity overcame a sense of flustered retreat. Whereupon Debbie sat up. Who won the day, Debbie or the ants?
“I won,” said Debbie, “I’m sitting on them, and if every ant isn’t as flat as a pancake then my eight stone two pounds counts for absolutely nothing.”
