I know what you’re thinking. What the hell happened in Vegas then? It turns out Vegas only lends itself to the types of things that make your entire face and body numb. You can smoke on the casino floors and they serve frozen margaritas in huge plastic cowboy boots. So, not much happened in Vegas apart from me looking and probably smelling like Patsy from Ab Fab when she’s laying in those bin bags.
When I returned to the UK however, a good old fashioned girls night out put me back on track to being semi conscious. We went to a gig and whilst bopping about I could feel a presence behind me. “It’s a pretty packed gig” I thought and glanced backwards. A man’s bearded face was far too close to mine and he gave me a close lipped smile.
Not wanting to be a bitch about it, (I mean, his eyes aren’t painted on) I looked directly at him, shook my head and waggled my finger like a primary school teacher. He held his hands up in a ‘sorry’ gesture and we both went back to our business of being drunk and standing there not touching.
But then… I thought I could feel a thread from my top or something touching me. I turn around and this guy is running his hands soft as air up my sides. I do the same routine, frankly annoyed I had to ask twice, but a little flattered all the same. Plus if he does it again – I’ll just glass him.
Two out of the five of us are single so when a young man expresses interest on a night out, the taken ladies are excited to live vicariously through my lukewarm romantic encounters. They insist on giving him a note, a la school disco with my number on it.
When Charlotte returns from her mission, she informs me he was really very strange… so we leave it at that.
Fast forward to the next day, the girls have gone home. I am getting drunk (again) on gin and tonics in my flat with a good friend, discussing the previous nights happenings and wouldn’t you know it, up pops a random number on my phone.
I genuinely forgot his name… but then through my gin soaked haze, a rage filled me and I was just about done. Listen up Jimmy – of all the gin joints in all the world you had to turn up and be an absolute fuck boy in mine.
I didn’t reply after that.
And they say romance is dead.