“So I’ll talk to you tomorrow then?” By this stage I was swinging out of the passenger side, high heels in my hands, 45 layers of foundation beginning to budge. “Yeah sure, talk to you tomorrow!” I slammed the door and he sped off dramatically into the distance. Well, everything all felt dramatic at that point as I stumbled barefoot over damp grass, stinking of Pink gin and twenty-something single life.
When I finally got my key into the lock, I fell into the door and was greeted by a very judgemental Shih Tzu. “Never hearing from him again!” I told her as I cut myself a block of cheese. That night I learned that Shih Tzus really don’t say much, but she was a better option than my mates who I had completely dropped for a lad sometime after 10. Yep, that was tomorrow’s problem.
The following morning, I woke, unfortunately, and the realisation hit. We had hooked up, I had ranted about the complete state of modern romance, and on top of all of this, I had also eaten, not one, not two, but his ENTIRE bag of chips. I was also certain that I was now friendless, and to make things even worse (I know right…) I was thinking we had both been embarrassing ourselves the night before. We weren’t, he had dropped me home, the poor lad hadn’t even been drinking. Ohhhh bloody hell.
I decided to test the water with the squad first, a quick group snap to ease the tension. Within 10 minutes I had received back three “Thank god you’re alive!” Phew. I think they had been concerned about my wherabouts all night, but little did they know that I had lured him into a complete false sense of security in my little black dress at 10pm, and by 3am my Double Troubles were probably dangling off my nose and there was definitely an empty chip bag sitting at my feet. On deliberation of the situation, I decided not to test the water with him. There was a good chance I would just find the violinists from the Titanic.
Later that day, I was seeking recovery in a chicken fillet roll. By the time I was knee deep in stuffing, my phone buzzed. It was him. Blue chat. Oh no, please don’t mention the chips. It took me a good 10 minutes to get over the shock of it before I could even attempt to open the message. “Good night?” and as much as I wanted to put last night behind me and not dwell on the humiliation of my gin-driven behaviour, I knew his future snaps would always bring back that moment of shock, and on the worst days, probably a strong whiff of salt and vinegar.