“Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements?” – Adele.
Well, when chasing pavements means chasing six foot, two inch models, then yeah, maybe give up. There’s comes a time in every man’s life when no matter how many nights out we have, how many drugs we take or drinks we drink, we just have to accept – it’s not going to get him into bed.
Wild Wednesdays came round again (the substitute for not binge drinking on the weekend, is to have a few (too many) during the week – well this was my logic), and after bumping into a model I’d been flirting with for a while, I’d somewhat neglected my friends so I could stand there batting my eyelids, twirling my hair and giggling like a randy school girl.
He was a bit geeky, kind of socially awkward and definitely a little pale like Edward (twilight) – but those cheek bones made even Vicky B jel. He also talked WAY too much… but you know a sister can’t talk if she got her mouth full – “Ladies Am I right?”
Suffice to say the last time I tried to ruse him into bed was a bigger flop than a J-LO movie. This time, the flirting seemed like it had come back full force (mug!). Why is it that guys we’re sweet on, it’s difficult to accept “he’s just not that into you?” Yet, I continued to waste the next twenty-four hours of my life unwillingly (yeah right) clubbing, all for the slight possibility that I might get laid (mug!). Still, after a few blowjobs (shots) we were well on our way to drunk and to Vauxhall. Topless clubbing led to an invite back to his, back at his, empty house, music playing, led to…
Top & tailing. BIBLE. Even muggings here was shocked.
“Lemon, Lemon, Lemon – I win a dull night” – Jack, Will & Grace.
Once, Twice, Three times an absolute mug?! I’d say that was apt. Safe to say this six foot, two inch chapter is well and truly closed. At least I moved on with his Versace hat upon my peroxide head.