To the curious, inquiring mind, there is nothing more interesting than the contents of someone else's desk - except, perhaps, the contents of their bedside drawer.

At the same time, being discovered prying into either is about as socially acceptable as being caught with your hand in the till. What were you looking for? Suddenly the curiosity of the person whose privacy you have invaded exceeds even your own.

Your salvation could lie in a box of Kleenex. Most bedside drawers and office desks these days have one. Take two tissues, stuff one up each nostril and lie flat on your back on the floor, explaining that you felt a nosebleed coming on. For greater effect, request a cold, wet flannel. (While your host or hostess are out of the room, you will have time to replace anything your prying may have disturbed.)

Whatever you do, display no signs of your guilt by making any hasty movements. Shut no drawers or cupboard doors. Remember, you are haemorrhaging to death and have nothing to be ashamed of.

If there are no tissues around, then you really are in trouble. The situation is not totally hopeless, however.

Prying in the bedroom

Your embarrassment at discovering your hostess's Aladdin's Cave of sex aids will be impossible to conceal; therefore you must turn it to your advantage. Explain that your piles are killing you and you were mounting a desperate search for a tube of Anusol cream because you were too embarrassed to ask. The obvious place to look, of course, is the very place where you yourself keep such medicaments at home.

Prying in the drawing room

'Isn't that extraordinary?' you remark, having a further poke around the desk, 'my grandmother has a desk that is identical to this one and it has a secret compartment just here. I was looking to see if yours did, too, but it doesn't. Does it have one anywhere else? I'm fascinated by these things ..."

Prying in the office

What are you looking for in that pile of papers on the managing director's desk?

You are attempting to intercept an ill-considered letter you have written but now wish to withdraw before it is read.

What letter? your inquisitor demands.

'Thank God! Then you haven't received it yet,' you exclaim, rushing off to continue elsewhere your search for this non-existent epistle.

Back to Art of Excuses Index