Fox Tales: Will It Really Be You, Man Number Two?

Frankie woke up on the morning of her date to what she could only assume was an extremely bad omen – paws pitter-pattered outside her bedroom door so she ran out for a look to see what destruction pooch was causing today. Her beloved pooch was an adorable and lady-like, demon dog with an attitude and constant need for attention. In fact, they do say dogs start to resemble their owners overtime, except pooch had hair that was much more soft and silky than Frankie’s. Frankie walked out of her bedroom, dreading the aftermath that would follow. “POOCH, PUT MY KNICKERS DOWN!!” turned out to be that aftermath. She was strutting around the landing with Frankie’s new red knickers in pieces hanging from her mouth. “Oh bloody hell pooch, they hardly covered anything before, never mind now!” It was a sign – The Spanx were calling.

She headed for her date with the most reliable choice, or so she thought. She arrived fashionably late and he still wasn’t there. She checked her phone, no text. She waited a while before sending him a text to confirm the location. She held on for a few minutes longer and with that, her phone buzzed: “Oh can we actually reschedule?” After no warning until now, looking like a fool who had been stood up, wasting tan,  going to the effort of shaving her legs, and the sexy snap she had just been sent from the potential heartbreaker aka the other man, it was a big no from her. She didn’t reply, as far as she was concerned, this ship had now sailed.

She went to meet the girls, drowning her sorrows in a pink gin and lemonade. She was standing near the bar mid-conversation when the other man caught her eye. Looking perfect as expected, he didn’t see her as he ordered a pint. “Girls, play it cool, the other guy is just over there!” With that, three unsubtle heads turned in unison to stare at this man who they all presumed would have miles ran 12 hours from now. He started to walk away from the bar as Frankie was trying her best not to act weird. When he saw her, he stopped and stared at her before starting the conversation with an “Oh hey!” As his aftershave hit her nose and his t-shirt hugged his arms, oh bloody hell, she knew this would hurt tomorrow.

The night passed with too many gins and even more kisses before they parted ways on a dodgy streetlamp lit street at 2am, surrounded by crying women and groups of fighting lads. Despite the obvious lack of romantic setting and the fact that the Spanx were having an impact on her ability to breathe, this man, who at first seemed like a wall of red flags, was suddenly looking so different to Frankie. The angel and devil both reappeared on her shoulders as she asked herself – aside from the hangover from hell, what would tomorrow hold?

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