A few years ago, (OK, quite a few years ago), I was competing in a triathlon, and came off my bike. I limped pack to the start/finish area, with nasty gravel rash all along one side of my body (clad only in swimming togs and a singlet).
I was standing around, feeling a bit sorry for myself, when a a young lady, one of my training buddies, finished. She rushed up to me, her face a mask of horrified concern, and gasped “Oh Pete! No nookie for you!” A moment later she added “Oh, but you’re married, aren’t you? Never mind.”
Touched by her sympathy, I jotted a brief note and mailed it to her a few days later. It read “Dear Jackie, nookie OK, even though married!”
I thought she’d get a laugh out of it, but I saw her several times over the next couple of weeks, and she said nothing, so I asked her brother, with whom she lived, if she’d got my note.
He replied “Was that you, you bastard? The poor girl’s been running around locking all the doors and windows at night, thinking she’s being stalked by some pervert!”