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A lovely friend of mine called me yesterday morning, close to tears and needing a favour. She was having some routine check-up done in a big south side Dublin hospital and when she arrived at her appointment they wouldn’t do it if she didn’t have anyone to pick her up, safety policy and all that jazz.

As a single female living in a different country than her family she is in a similar position to myself, who is your go-to person when needed? Friends work, have families of their own and have other things to do. So in her moment of need she asked me to come and save her, as a good friemily I made the time and arranged to be available.

So when I got the call from the hospital to come and get her I jumped in the Luas and sped towards the hospital. It was s beautiful sunny day, hot and real summery so I was just wearing a light top and some cropped jeans. As I I took my seat  and stretched out my legs, feeling happy and relaxed, I noticed with horror that my legs were more bristly than I thought and against my pale pasty skin the dark hairs were quite visible. Not being able to concentrate on my book I tried to curl my legs out of sight and hoped no one would notice. My carefree-spirit was suddenly overly conscious of my extremities with their tufts spouting. But as I couldn’t change the situation I just spent the day walking really fast, hiding my legs and planning a shower asap.

This morning, razor in hand, I was having a shower singing “true colours” and water dancing when a voice coming from my living room stopped me in my tracks. I live alone and although I was expecting a friend to drop off something I knew she didn’t have a key, so when I heard her calling my name I was more than just a little surprised. As I threw on my trusty robe and hurried down the stairs, dripping drops of water as I descended, I welcomed my friend with a questioning look and inquiring how she had gotten in.

I live close to the city center and friends will attest that it is not necessarily the best or safest location as right beside it are council flats and hooligan headquarters. But the little cul-de-sac my home is part of is a bit different, quite quaint and almost provincial and very community oriented, but I still lock my door.

I am not sure if my hairy legs distracted me or my rushing around yesterday was at fault but for some bizarre reason I didn’t close my front door properly when I came  home yesterday. So when my friend arrived she thought I had left my door open just for her, we were both quite shocked to find that it had been open a tiny bit all night. With my handbag sitting on the table, my Mac clearly on display and a little notebook perched on the daybed it would have been a burglars paradise. But I have to say that it makes me feel even better about the place I live in, to know that I was safe even when I made myself vulnerable, but I will be double checking tonight.

With a lesson learn I have discovered that when you open up doors you never know what surprise lies behind them, and sometimes it can be a friend standing in your living room.