Talent was thin on the ground in Doyles on Friday night, but when this long haired bearded giant of a man came loping up the stairs my interest was piqued. He made a beeline for the bar (a man after my own heart) and I pointed him out to Strawberry Shortcake, who sniggered in what I think was agreement but what may have been ridicule. I didn't care, I thought he was hot. As he made his way back towards the stairs I gave him my biggest smile and got one from him in return. He stopped in his tracks, came over and wished me a happy Christmas. Delighted with my apparent magnetism, I turned on the charm and chatted him up for all I was worth. It took all of two minutes for me to realise that I had made a grave error of judgement; he was the most boring man on the planet.
Fuck it, I thought, brimming with vodka and confidence, he's cute and he smells very nice. He's also 6'6 in height, and you don't see that every day. He's dull and he's not getting my phone number, but I quite fancy a kiss at the end of the night. It's Christmas, after all.
Closing time was approaching and people were making noises about taxis and house parties. He shuffled uncomfortably, looked anxiously at me and then made his pitch.
"So, um, yeah, um, would you like to go outside? Or maybe around the corner?"
Fuck off.
Fuck it, I thought, brimming with vodka and confidence, he's cute and he smells very nice. He's also 6'6 in height, and you don't see that every day. He's dull and he's not getting my phone number, but I quite fancy a kiss at the end of the night. It's Christmas, after all.
Closing time was approaching and people were making noises about taxis and house parties. He shuffled uncomfortably, looked anxiously at me and then made his pitch.
"So, um, yeah, um, would you like to go outside? Or maybe around the corner?"
Fuck off.
