Or at least one guy, and a girl who thinks like a guy. Here’s why:

At a party on Saturday, I was in a conversation with 3 girls. I noticed that one of them had one of those metal Camel cigarette box covers, and I asked if she ever washed it or gave it a Handy-Andy-once-over every now and again, ‘cos it must get bit manky after a while I’m sure.

So she tells us this long story about how it was accidentally left somewhere or other and the thing got mixed with the clothes in the washing machine. She ends the story off with:

“And that’s the first time I washed my box!”

Right.

Laughing? I didn’t, ‘cos none of the chicks even gave a hint of a funny connotation-notice or anything! I looked around frantically to see if any of the other men in earshot actually had the honour of being part of this Freudian genius, but alas, I was alone. If I had said something, anything, laughing by myself, I would’ve been the ‘dirty guy’, again.

So from now on, I’ll be in no conversations if I’m the only guy. It hurt having to keep that gem inside all this time. Glad it’s out now…