I normally slam the door on cold callers, even the needling charity ones with clipboards and faux fixed grins, but this was one was gorgeous, so I invited him inside for a cup of tea.
He had the most beautiful eyes, dark, mischievous, irresistible. And that smile, so sultry, teasingly wicked. He talked about a special offer, a £6.66 monthly direct debit, something about a soul and eternity. I was too distracted to listen properly; he made me want to wear red lipstick and whisper obscenities into his ear.
I signed the dotted line.