Went to Dubai with the parental unit to get properly boozed with some other Trini's stationed in the Gulf. I tottered around with ever the full glass of red; the oldies making crude sex jokes, cackling to their clogged heart's content and telling me not to be embarassed. Shit, I wasn't. Some old Texan guy wearing the same shirt as me, who kept wishing he was thirty years younger, said he lives a short distance from me in London and is looking forward to seeing me in the Caiman Islands this summer. I got invited to stay at some old lady's boozy pad in the Caimans this August. "All you need is booze, baby. I really like you. Come and be my pet." Um, okay.
So, eventually the ballet ribbons on my mom's shoes had cut off my leg's blood flow(because I didn't want them to fall limp around my ankles) so I went walking in the street and drunk dialling. The wedges were actually great leverage for when I squatted in the road crying to my ex-boyfriend in America. "I hate you! I hate you" But I don't, okay?
No comments:
Post a Comment