One day my Dad invited the local Mayor and his wife Mary at home. I was 16 at the time. Mary offered to bake a cake for us. As we watched a comedy on TV, she was busy working in the kitchen, measuring about six-foot square.
“Where is the wheat flour?” she called.
My mother sent me to find wheat flour. I stood behind Mary and waited as she weighed out the required ingredients.
Her husband (John) tiptoed into the kitchen, touched her behind and quickly stepped out of the door. Mary turned and looked at me in disbelief. I will never forget the expression on her face. It has stuck with me until now.
For about few seconds I stared at her, not knowing what to say. Finally, I said: "It was not me. John touched you."
Before she could reply, John came back into the room laughing at the top of his voice.