“Years ago, I found myself in a hotel room in India getting ready to catch a flight back to the UK after two

long weeks on the road. As you can imagine, I had a fair number of clothes to pack (it had been two weeks
of staying in hotels after all) and that included a large number of used underwear. Not wishing to pack
them with the rest of my clothes, I looked around my hotel room for a plastic bag but realized I didn’t have
one. Finally, I noticed some gift wrapping, a remnant from a present a friend had gifted earlier in the trip
and I bundled all the used underwear into the gift wrap before tying it up with the ribbon that had come
with the gift wrapping. Job done, I checked out, caught my flight and landed back in the UK. Now it
hadn’t happened to me before and it hasn’t happened since but it had to happen then. A customs officer
flagged me (female as it happened) and asked to inspect my suitcase. Like a good citizen, I dutifully
obliged. I opened it up and right there sat my gift-wrapped package, positively screaming for attention.
Was she going to ignore it? Like hell, she was. She asked me to unwrap the package; I tried telling her that
was not a good idea; she got even more curious and then steelier, insisting that the package had to be
opened and finally opened it herself. The look she gave me once she saw what was inside, as she tried to
figure out my particular malady – how many parts lunacy mixed with how many parts perversion and
narcissism – was pretty priceless. It would have been pointless to try and explain, so I didn’t. I just tried to
stay composed, as if I couldn’t see what was the matter, repacked my suitcase and made haste for the exit
with as much dignity as I could muster.”