Shots of Doom

I woke up at 6am so dehydrated that I was convinced I had actually cracked my tongue in half and that if I opened my mouth it would fall out onto my duvet and I’d never be able to speak again. All in all I’d say that was a sign of a bloody brilliant night.

It started early, 4pm to be precise when I wandered into my local to find it chocka full of football fans getting hyped up for Southampton v Man Utd, I was literally the only woman in there and was spoilt for choice at the range of tall talent on offer. It’s just a shame that chivalry has shuffled off this mortal coil and it took forever to get served at the bar because blokes kept cutting across me to order. Fuckers.

The gang started to arrive and the wine started flowing, and flowing, and flowing and by about 8pm it seemed like a really bloody awesome idea to go and get a round of Black Sambucca shots for everyone. You can tell how twaddled I was already by the fact that I actually enjoyed drinking liquid tar and as soon as I’d necked the first shot I was eager to get another round in. By the time the wonderful news came in that Owen and Treasure had got engaged (Congratulations chaps!) I was well on my way to being utterly bladdered. In fact on my way back into the bar from calling to offer congratulations this fairly attractive man held the door for me (I only had one eye open so he might have been an utter minger), I was bimbling through the door when ‘whammo’ I lost control of my noggin and headbutted him square in the chest. Mortifying or what? I got back to the table and shared the tale with the class before blaming my cranial malfunction on a stroke.

To give you an idea of how drunk I was, I gave the barman my phone number…. I have never given my phone number to someone before so although some of you out there might think it’s a trifling thing for me it was quite a big deal. I think it could potentially mean that I’m starting to believe that a man wouldn’t have to be both blind and mental to be attracted to me. I leapt like a scalded cat today when I realised I had a missed call from a random number, sadly it wasn’t the *ahem* TWENTY-ONE YEAR OLD BARMAN, but a slightly confused lady who didn’t know me. So the barman hasn’t called but plenty more fish in the sea and I think I’m finally at the water’s edge…


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