Only freakishly tall accountants over the age of forty were lining up to dance with me. Leaving me no choice but to feign a foot injury and consume large quantities of wine. My miracle bra did little to attract the only handsome non-accounting male at the party, therefore I was forced to stand close to him and make a date with a passing 45 year old accountant in an attempt to appear popular and date-worthy.
I guzzled a whole bottle of wine and then fumbled with my key in the door at 2am on Sunday morning. Cursing and banging my head also failed to open the door – scantily clad bare-chested policeman WAS able to open the door due to it being HIS door.
I now appear to be a drunken harlot who picks neighbours locks at night.
The sexy muscle cop has apparently reported me to Lily, as she has told me at dinner on Sunday that I shouldn’t come home so late, otherwise people will talk about me - that child knows too much.
With date looming on Wednesday I must :
Find a babysitter, as nanny-rooter Eric has prior engagements (Possibly swingers night?).
Stop repeatedly fantasizing about being cuffed and arrested in my bikini.
Find super high stilettos, so as to reach at least chin height of my date.
Practice staying awake when people use accounting terms in everyday speech.
- Also, promise to post photo's as soon I upload them on to PC and figure out how to put them on blog!
1 comment:
WAIT! Who is the date with??????
I fucking LOVE that you were at the neighbors!!!! LOOOOOVE it!!!
Too bad he didn't take you back to his bedroom and break out the handcuffs!!!!
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