Scene: Chez togmob, master bedroom, early hours. The senior togmobbers are engaged in lustful pursuits, when mr tog reaches playfully into the bedside drawer, and flourishingly extracts
mr tog: oh.. er.. um.. not what I meant to grab…
Both: gales of hysterical giggles
Luckily, both of us find laughter aphrodisiacal, so the lustful pursuits were eventually resumed. However, I may never look at a shoehorn the same way again. I see myself redfaced, struggling to repress my mirth, emitting various embarassing high-pitched not-quite-laughing sounds in shoestores for years to come.