27 November 2011

The Worm that Got Away

They say the early bird gets the worm; I didn't get a thing. Hugo was one resounding disappointment. I woke up the next morning and looked at my phone to find a million texts about the 'amazing' night. He wanted to meet again. Only a day earlier I had wanted nothing more than for his wiggly worm to hit the clit, but now I was on my period. I thought I would humour him...

Next came dinner. A cramped restaurant with barely an inch between each table, this wasn't going to help our inevitably stilted conversation. The family next to us definitely enjoyed the awkward vibe - a fourteen year old girl sniggering at you makes you realise quite how tragic your love life is. The night was going to be interesting.

Our starters arrived. Hugo leans in, takes my hand in his sweaty paw and asks me to 'be his girlfriend'. No joke - really. Two days after first kissing him, he could see a cripplingly boring marriage, dirty screaming children, and old age in our future. "No!", my voice nearly belted out, reverberating across the restaurant. Our date had turned into an episode of Hollyoaks. At least the family next to us appreciated it.

Things clumsily continued. Sweating buckets, he watched me gulp down Pinot Grigio like water, pained at my rejection. To top off the disastrous night, our cheerful waitress  merrily brought over our bill, oblivious to the tension and performing an exaggerated song and dance. It was Panto Season.

On the way home, the streets were paved with treacherous ice. As I led a dejected Hugo home, the prospect of a night in with the Rabbit became all the more appealing. Losing myself to the thought, I completely lost my footing, stacking it on the ice. He tried to save me from falling, and a flailing awkward struggle ensued under the spotlight of the streetlamp.

Kill me now.

- Birdie xoxo

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