Katy was an ex of mine with a bubbly and vivacious personality, rather pretty of face, and kind enough to let us congress non-vertically and without clothing in a bed.
And in return, I was just a crappy, crappy boyfriend.
As a couple, we didn’t really hang out much. When we should've been having ‘us’ time, I demanded to stay home alone as I wanted to write all day. Although I say ‘wanted’, and ‘all day’ and ‘write’, I always reluctantly wrote next to nothing and ended up in the pub with my compatriots instead.
Katy thus kicked my sorry bottom to some kind of concrete edge and begun seeing other guys while I wound up angry at being dumped, even if I was happy for her. She deserved so much better after all. Some time later – it could’ve been months, it may have been years - I invited her out to catch up. It felt like the decent thing to do and besides, I’d heard she was single again, and I was gagging.
We ended up in a garish bar just off of Oxford Street; funky music, trendy yelling folk, that kind of thing, and I’d left our table to get a round in but not before a quick visit to the conveniences. On my return, I asked Katy what she wanted, then headed off to the bar when I heard an almighty shriek. I was half way across the room when I’d turned round to see Katy waving her arms like she was drowning at sea. Feeling it too time-consuming to see what the matter was, I ignored her and strolled up to the bar to get served immediately. Life Treat!
As I waited for the indifferent barman to prepare the libations, I checked out the rest of the clientele. Directly behind me was a table full of women all checking me out. Two even grinned, prompting me to lean casually against the bar as I tried not to look panic stricken. Something really sexy was going down that night.
I was rather buoyed as I swaggered back to our table. Katy with her head in her hands.
‘Whassamatter?’ I enquired as I sat the drinks down.
‘Just turn around.’
Confused, I did as I was told as I strained to see why Katy was pecking at my behind with nervous jabs. A huge length of toilet paper fluttered to the ground. It had been poking out of the rear of my jeans and cascading down my legs like a tail.
So alright, maybe I used the cubicle for privacy. Okay, perhaps I took advantage of a nearby roll to cleanse the old undercarriage. But under no circumstances was I that drunk or stupid as to leave a length dangling when I whipped my jeans back up.
Okay, maybe I was.