Single Status Update
Greetings! Now HERE I have a gem that is bound to have AT LEAST one troll posting a sarcastic "Great story" or its popular variant, "Hey, great story."
I would like to share with you the experience of my date last night so that, no matter what wretched travesty of a love life some of you may have (no offence), you will forever be contented with the safe and warm glow that comes from knowing "At least it's better than Major Rawne's!"
Just so you understand the slang: "Pissed" is Brit slang for drunk. (Oh yes, there was alcohol involved.) We do not use it to describe anger unless the word "pissed" is followed by "off".
I was at fault to start with because I was 45 minutes late. I agreed to meet her at a pub in Leeds. For non-UK residents, that's a city in the County of Yorkshire in the North of England – a city that is now basically a foreign colony, but that's another story. I was stupid enough to drive to Leeds without realising you cannot get a parking space unless it's miles away from where you need to be. My fault – so that's one-nil to me already.
Unfortunately my date had used that time to consume an entire bottle of wine. When I (reluctantly, in view of how much she'd just necked on her own) offered her a drink, she wanted another wine – "I think they only sell it in bottles," she said. Well this is Leeds, not the tourist area of the Algarve, so the bottle of wine was only three times more expensive than my cola. That's either cheap wine or pricey cola.
Anyway, I had also failed to take into account that it was a Friday night in Leeds city centre, so we had to have our conversation with shitty modern pop-noise blaring in our ears. They don't make music any more, they just make noise with a woman singing and an out-of-place male rapper joining in halfway through (for some reason).
My date became quite excited, yelling at the top of her voice as she told me about how many fist-fights she's had (this month). Then she told me how the love of her life had broken her heart several months ago. She told me she's had a fight with her neighbour, which her neighbour really did start, and the neighbour went to the local school, told the headmaster, then the headmaster got them both in a room and told them to stop fighting! (They're both 29)
Unfortunately by now she had finished her second bottle and was becoming amorous. She called me Mr Grey after a character in some porno. That's the second time I've been compared to him by a girl this week – I must come across as a cultured and intelligent millionnaire who loves to make women into his gimps – not really sure how a person actually delivers that impression, but that's the female mind for you. She wanted me to take her home and spend the night, never mind the fact that I had to get up for work at the crack of birdshit. In fact, her elegant solution to this problem was to "fuck work off."
I can quite honestly tell you I have NEVER been pleased about having to go to work early in the morning until yesterday. I spun an elaborate and brilliant tale of how I'm on my last chance there and if I lose my job I've lost everything, but she was so pissed by this point I could have told her I was a weather girl called Summer Sunshine and she'd have totally ignored it.
We went outside because I was trying to get her back to the train station so I could run back to my car, go home, get in bed and pull the covers fearfully over my head. Unfortunately I am possessed of great conscience and she could barely walk, so I volunteered to drive her home. This was in many ways a mistake because she thought Christmas had come early for her.
I told her I don't do that stuff on a first date, so she got it into her head that I was such a gentleman she must bone me immediately, right here in the street. She started trying to give me love bites and stick her tongue down my throat. I tried to half-guide, half-carry her along crowded streets where she relentlessly made an arse of herself in front of the population of Leeds. She kept shouting that she hoped I didn't have masking tape and a rope in my car – weirdly enough I actually did have masking tape but that was to tape my lights up when I went to the track. I strongly considered putting some across her big mouth.
And then her fucking teeth fell out!
Yes, her entire top row of teeth was a falsehood. She put them back in quickly but the damage was done: she'd drooled all over her chin – AND SHE TRIED TO KISS ME LIKE THAT.
Just because I had finally got her in the car didn't mean the night was over! No, there were still 40 painful and terrible minutes to go. All the way home she kept saying how much I must hate her and think she's a bad mother, which incidentally she'd been saying over and over again for the last hour. I spend some of my spare time helping people who suffer from depression and other issues and I realise a chronic lack of self-esteem when I see it, but you CANNOT do anything about this when they're drunk.
I finally got her home, stupidly agreed to go in with her, then she shoved me on the settee, sat on me and tried to snog me, by which point I'd had quite enough and buggered off so fast I had to actually stop myself from running.
EDIT: When I got home my brother was watching a strange but very likeable American painter called Bob Ross. It's not been a good night when the best part of your date was getting home in time to see the last five minutes of Bob Ross painting a mountain with a log cabin right in the middle of the scene for some reason.
So that was my Friday night. Please join Plenty of Fish and you might have many more experiences like mine!
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It's like turning up to watch Muse and getting Matt Bellamy's little brother on lead vocals, or his grandma coming out to play the banjo and singing world war 2 songs...
If you'd want anyone else as Muse's lead vocals it would be Chris. Although I do believe I heard somewhere there is AT LEAST one song on the next album where this is the case.