Obviously things weren't what they appeared.
Let me explain.
As keen followers of this column will be aware, Boomerang Child has again flown the coop, and like a great many empty nesters out there Mrs P and I have taken a week or two to work out what we should do with the now vacant room.
Options include getting a ginormous telly, 24-hour sports channel and one La-Z-Boy recliner - my idea - or hiring it out as extra warehouse space for Briscoes - not my idea.
Anyway, as we discussed the possibilities, we realised we couldn't do anything with the room until we'd got rid of all the clothes left behind.
Boomerang Child was contacted and she gave the go-ahead for a sale of all and anything we wanted "on behalf" at a shop in town. As long as she got the money.
I'd been floating a similar "let's get rid of all that stuff" plan for years but had been roundly condemned as "heartless and uncaring" so the speed with which it was now being agreed to left me somewhat bemused.
I resisted the urge to go down the old "I told you so" trail and concentrated on loading the car with a sizeable number of quite stunning outfits. Oh well, at least I'd be getting my room back.
To be honest, putting the dresses in the car actually made me wonder where all the years of growing up had gone. But then there was relief in the realisation that some of the more, shall we say, "barely there" outfits were leaving the Page household and never again would I have to worry about her going out dressed in them. Or Neanderthal suitors salivating over them, for that matter. Dads who have been in a similar position will know exactly what I mean.
Once in town, I found a park 100m away from my destination and realised I'd have to lug the lot down the street.
Luckily, Mrs P had impressed upon me the need to keep all the hangers in place for ease of carting so I skilfully gathered them all up in one hand, the long flowing evening gown at the front, and held it high, about chin height, so it didn't drag on the ground. The high-heeled shoes I gathered in the free hand and set off.
About halfway to my destination, I realised the traffic had stopped for me on Amohia St so I nodded with thanks and walked across in front of the waiting vehicle.
It would be fair to say a significant amount of mirth came forth from the four young men in the vehicle. And a wolf whistle.
OK, I knew it would look a bit odd. I hadn't realised exactly how odd till I caught sight of my reflection in the shop window opposite, as I crossed the road.
It looked, to all intents and purposes, like I was wearing the long dress.
I have to admit I had a chuckle. But it definitely wasn't worth a wolf whistle.
I mean - what bloke in his right mind would wear blue shoes with a hot pink evening dress?
Kevin Page has been a journalist for 35 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.
