Picking up the older mini-W from school earlier today, I asked her whether she liked my new jeans, purchased in a central London Gap store a few hours earlier.
"No," she replied. "You still have the label on."
My panic was immediate and my reflexes were quick. The offending item was removed just a split second before a mother came up and started making conversation.
It was actually one of those transparent, sticky strips that reveals your waist and inside leg measurements. They'd hidden the b****rd thing just out of my line of sight round the back of my right thigh.