I went out all weekend, each night blurring into the next without missing a beat. So it's obviously clear that I would arise to the beauty of Monday, with a spot on my arse. Never in my life have I had one of these beauties. Fascinating.
I went to The Shack as usual because of the Jamaican Rum and the Red Stripe both being in the same bar. Bliss. On the Friday I was fully charged with double shots of Rum and pulsating with crap drugs turning me on turbo charge. We ran out of money, as girls tend to do, but we wanted one last shot. So, I asked 'John', who was most definitely the shy punter type. The type that would be in and out quietly in three minutes flat, fifty quid quietly laid on the bedside table and a 'thank you' as he left kind of bloke. He bout us the round. I told him no matter what mental state I was in , I would be back to drop off his money. He just smiled. Of course he didn't believe me.
I felt so smug returning the next night. Hubby on my arm. Plus John's money.
Not all girls are bad:-)
Met a totally mental woman on the Friday and she snogged me. Twice. I've got her number...