Friday, June 22, 2007

A Rude Awakening


Well, well, well. I’m nursing a faint hangover today, and a bulging belly full of delicious pasta from last night. That indicates a good night.

What I did not expect was the violin man standing next to our table and wailing mournfully at us.

And I didn’t expect to lose my shoe somewhere underneath the table and have the four of us on our hands and knees searching for it only to find it was in my handbag.

I certainly didn’t expect the toxic cocktails with their little umbrellas or the man who made rude hats out of balloons, or indeed, wearing such a balloon on my head along a busy road.

And I absolutely did not anticipate witnessing a young puppy-love couple being escorted out of the restaurant for getting a tad carried away or two of our party tripping down the stairs in a sort of dominoe effect.

And there was no way I knew I’d be eating dinner with Prince Harry at the neighbouring table. Although it may not have been him, it could have been my imagination.

No siree, I didn’t expect any of that.

But I did expect the uncontrollable snorting laughter and memories of our shared past which made us the most hated table of ladies in the restaurant. And that is what happened.

Ah a wonderful soiree was had by all.


At the end of the evening I came home and sunk into my bed, the whole delicious mattress engulfing my body as if it were a marshmallow (my mattress, not my body. Although one could describe my body as slightly marshmallowesque). I slept with foam earplugs, to escape the blare of dad’s snoring, but mainly because I refuse to allow spiders to get jiggy inside my ear canal.

I awoke at 8am with a pain in my gut, and flashbacks of the night before came hurling at me. I groaned, and rolled over. Another half an hour passed as I dozed lightly and dreamt of FP holding a black rabbit on a leash (not quite sure about that one…), waving to me and saying over and over again ‘Allo ma petite puce, ma petite puce, ma petite puce’.

At quarter to 9 a thought burst into my head, interrupting my dreams. ‘Get up. If you don’t get a glass of water this minute you will probably perish and someone will find you in bed, days later, shrivelled up like a raisin.’

I got up.


The room was bright, ‘must have forgotten to pull the blinds last night’, I thought. I stood up and stretched in a long, slow, lazy, catlike manner. I looked in the mirror across the room and saw my hair; a huge, tousled mess. Remnants from last nights make up was melted on my face, even though I was sure I had taken it off before bed. I suppose I hadn’t, because the rest of it was smeared across the pillow.

I took out the foam ear plugs and that’s when I heard the shuffling at the window.

Bloody hell.

The face was peering in through the glass. I dove under the covers and hid until I heard them leave. The window cleaners that is.

I wondered how long he’d been there for, the big perv. The cheek of him! What an eejit.

I am relieved that this time I was not caught out in the bath, shaving my legs as I have been before, but I still feel somewhat violated.

Those window cleaners must see some dreadfully bizarre and private things going on behind those windows they wash. Must be terribly interesting. I’m considering a career change. I’m quite the curious cat myself.


Drew said...

I had a Guys night last evening, but since I gave up drinking (medical reasons not alcoholic onces) It isn't as raucous as it used to be. Now we talk about our kids (or in my case future kids) and have our buffalo wings and plates of fried food that is in no way good for us. But hey once a month is good to let loose.

How did your shoe end up in your handbag, not that this surprises me in the least. :-)

sylvie d said...

Welcome back!:-)

Uncle Norman said...

Window cleaners never want to sneek a look at me. Sexist bastards.

Glad you got your extension by the way.

Princesse Ecossaise said...

Drew I'm not allowed to drink alcohol either, but I was convinced by several people including my own mother to drink!!

Now, the shoe was being swung from my foot, and it appeared to fall off at some point. A long time later I discovered it had fallen into my bag which was on the floor. Either that or someone had tricked me - which is quite possible!

Thanks Sylvieeee and Uncle Norm!

T.D. Newton said...

LOL @ Spiders getting jiggy

Can you imagine breakdancing with 8 legs? A-W-E-S-O-M-E.

ColbyPants said...

I love how you were offended until you saw the blessed opportunity of the occupation



Princesse Ecossaise said...

Hang on, hang on...does the term 'getting jiggy' mean dancing??!

Hahaha Tom you should know me by now, thats totally my way of thinking!

ColbyPants said...

it means danicng, and it can also mean. . . . ahem. . . . reproducing. . .



Princesse Ecossaise said...

ah! Well I meant it in the reproduction term... :-s

When people say 'I'm getting jiggy on the dancefloor' I always thought they were being rude!