This morning, on my way into work, I accidentally walked into a cloud of ganja. Stereotypically it was blown into my face by a young, black man loitering outside my workplace. I pictured myself being mauled by the security dogs on the other side of the gate. Luckily there were no dogs. It made me think that I could have inhaled a lot more and got away with it. Accidental inhalation sounds like a really shit excuse but is totally possible.
Last Tuesday morning my fate was much worse. Pasty-faced, bleary-eyed and with dirty, greasy hair and shit clothes I was standing at the cross roads near my house waiting for the green man. This pause gave me time to consider my appearance and hope to god that I didn’t see anyone I knew. Just as this thought was making its way across my mind I heard a bus sound its horn as it passed me by. I caught a glimpse of the driver and thought to myself. Jesus Christ. I’ve had sex with that man. He gawped and gesticulated wildly, most probably howling with laughter at my apparent demise. I was mortified and considered throwing myself under the next vehicle that came along. This should prompt me to tell you all about Chocolate man, but I'll have to save that for another time.
Now a question for you all: when should a woman give up her hotpants? I was pondering on this yesterday while buying some woolly tights in a department store. I overheard one member of staff say to the other, as she put down the phone to a customer,
“Jesus. She’s 28 and she wants a pair of hotpants so that she can go out and bag a man!”
I almost said something, because, let’s face it, there are so many things one could say about that statement! I’ll leave that one with you…..
Thankfully, I’m off to a cheap and cheerful spa tomorrow for some relaxation with Cupcake and a very pregnant Victoria Sponge. So please forgive me if I leave you now to go and pack my bag which I believe still has stuff in it from my Manchester trip because yes, I really am that shit.