Well I’ve been suitably absent for a few days folks, due to a horrendous dose of FOOD POISONING. I’m a frickin vegetarian! How can I get food poisoning? Geez, I curse you lettuce leaves.
Turns out, even with food poisoning, life does not stop. Thursday morning I woke up at 4 am and promptly threw up my guts. First I thought it was something to do with the excessive amounts of wine I’d drunk the night before at an Amy MacDonald gig at the Hardrock Cafe, but when I got to work and continued to hurl after every little piece of food I ate, I figured this was not normal.
It’s a sign of how mental my job really is that I was sent home ill at 11am, and I actually left at 3pm. Nice. The next day I dragged myself out of bed at 10 and struggled in for 11, but again I only lasted until 3. I wonder how many deadlines I missed by going home early? Geeez.
Anyway, despite a severe lack of food for 3 days, I feel relatively normal now, cue a timely text from Forbidden asking what time I would be getting in that evening to see his show.
Crap.
How can food poisoning make me forget the prospect of sex? As a result I’m unwaxed, slightly less perfectly coiffed than I’d like to be and had resigned myself to an evening in front of the telly with a box of pringles. Now… I’m not so sure.
I just shaved my ladyplace – painstakingly – in the shower, and after careful hand mirror examination it’s not looking too bad. In the dim light of evening I might just get away with it. My good knickers just came out of the wash… I’m just a hairdryer away from sex readiness.
Yet I’m still not feeling too hot… and it’s a long way to go for a shag. (we’re talking another county)
Do I go? Do I stay? If I go, there’s a chance of watching an incredibly dull show then getting some hot sex afterwards. If I stay… there’s a box of unopened pringles and the oddly attractive new Doctor on my telly box.
The next few hours are crucial folks… I’ll keep you informed.
RitziCx
