(For this story to make any kind of sense, you have to know that Blondie and I are on holiday in Turkey currently. It’s thirty degrees and we’re so tanned it would make you spit. Sorry.)
A lesson recently learned by Ms Blondie McFabulous:
Number one: Don’t leave Ritzi alone with men of ANY KIND when she’s had a drink. Even unattractive, slightly fat Essex ones.
I woke up this morning at 4am, wide eyed and completely sober. I got up, went to the loo, and was slightly confused to find that I had no underwear on. Considering I’m sharing a bed with Blondie, I thought that rather odd. I shuffled back to bed, and lay there for some time trying to piece together the previous evening, to no avail. Eventually, it was bugging me so much that I poked Blondie awake.
‘Blondie,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember getting home last night, what happened?’
‘You showed up four hours after I last saw you, without your bikini.’
Yes folks, Ritzi Cortez still has the ability to be an absolute twat when she’s had too much to drink. Then followed an hour or so of cringing apologies, when I discovered that I had not only come home completely naked (in a towel, thankfully. Though not my towel, so I’m not sure where that came from…) and out of my face, sans ipod, shoes, JK ROWLING BOOK and dignity, but I had then proceeded to drop said towel (which is when Blondie discovered I had lost my bikini) and pass out, spreadeagled. At some point I put my giant Ritzi t-shirt on. Apparently.
After discovering this, I did a bit of downstairs recon, and announced to Blondie that I didn’t exactly feel like I’d been buggered by anyone.
‘You walked through the door and told me you’d just shagged a fat Essex man.’ Blondie informed me. Oh. Alright then.
You might think the worst part of this story is done. That discovering you’ve potentially flashed your foo foo at small children while staggering back to the apartment you can’t even find when sober in the daylight so feck knows how you managed that out of your face in the dark, then stripped for your best friend and passed out legs akimbo, is probably the most mortifying experience that a single stupid person can have. You’re probably feeling a little bit sorry for me, because it sounds like poor Ritzi might have had her drink spiked and got date raped by an Essex builder, but in actual fact - don’t.
Because the Essex man in question only hunted me down the next day, gave me back a bag of ALL of my belongings (including ipod, JK book and my actual clothes) and sheepishly said he hoped I got home okay.
And then I walked into the Mediterranean and drowned myself.
I honest to god do not remember a single thing after 4pm yesterday afternoon. I went to the bar, Blondie went to Skype her Jewish boyfriend, and then 12 hours later I woke up. I don’t remember going to anyone’s appartment, losing my clothes, getting home to my own appartment, flashing Blondie… absolutely none of it. I’m actually quite relieved the truth of it hasn’t come crashing back to me at any point today. I think my brain has just decided it’s better to let me carry on in ignorance.
I’ve now decided I’m an absolute liability and the need for some kind of perfect steady boyfriend is greater than ever before. I simply cannot keep getting pissed out of my face and shagging randoms, especially not in places with pools and Oceans and rock formations I can fall off. I can’t die of stupidity before I’ve tracked down my one true love, that just won’t do.
And so, I shall live out the rest of this week in a series of cunning disguises and extra large sunglasses, running a mile in the opposite direction at the mere hint of an Essex drawl, and then I will go home and we will NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN. Got that? Good.
Yours most ashamedly,
Ritzi “I’m a tool” Cortez