There it lay, in it's own incredible form - a reminder of what happened last night. No doubt through several flashbacks and texts, more would come back, back home. For now, though, I could hardly breathe. The smell of sambuca was still ascented in my breath, and the taste of what I kissed last night was stained yellow and flourescent in the very gullet of my tongue. Normally my hair swung perfectly, today it was parted, fluffy to the touch. I had those crusty small tints of sleep still in my eyes, just below the bags, which carried my shame. As I looked in the mirror, I let out a small giggle, it turned into a five second giggle, perhaps longer? Arising behind me was the shadow of a girl, swear she was beautiful last night, though, maybe that was just the liquids talking. Her baggy belly draped over her waistline, the slight limp in her walk was not one of disability, but rather one of deformity. She could barely look at me, let alone smile. Gripping her phone tightly, there was a loud clatter of the door as she locked herself in my toilet for a good ten to fifteen minutes. I wasn't really sure what my position in all this was, she had the aura of a victim, you know what they say, when a guy takes a girl home, he is normally the culprit. This did not really feel any different, apart from maybe a sense of injustice, a sense of knowing I should really get a grip of myself when intoxicated. I glanced at the fridge, and spotted more fragments from last night - a collection of blue fridge magnets, which formed the word 'clueless', I certainly was judging by what I went home with last night.
Ten minutes passed, she was still in my bath room. I was bursting, my usual Saturday morning routine of releasing a stream of strobe lightning delight was being held up by some sort of contraption - a thirteen stone massive grit iron of jelly contraption. Quincing my legs, I let out a loud roar of dissaproval. This, reader, was the icing on a very out of date cake. Leaning on the wall nearest the bathroom; I hung my head, praying she would not be any longer. Fifteen more minutes passed, and still no sign of the girl I mistook for Jennifer Aniston last night. What could she be doing? It was the weekend, so there was the possibility she was utilizing her free texts. Maybe updating Facebook with a one bar reception? God, I was cringing at the thought of the headline.
'LOL pulled a complete munter last night, now I'm locked in his toilet, LOL. Going to see My Hearts Blessed and These Strings Are Your Fannies Bucket later with Jess and Sarah! wooo'.
What was worse, is that there was probably a guy from Greenock hovering over the 'like' button right about now, whilst gelling his side burns, quite gutting, actually, now I think about it. Still, patience was a virtue, and what if she was just relieving herself? Probably best to not even go there, even me on the wimpiest and glad raggen of days would not spend more than ten minutes in the 'domain of doom'. I could hear a stirring, but it was not that of a women doing an emotionless jobby, rather that of someone moving in the room next to mines. Impossible, though. Stella and Natasha were both on vacation, both in the same place, Kansas? I'm sure it was Kansas? Maybe Canada, god knows, somewhere. Not in Glasgow, though, sure of it..
Eyes tighten and a perfect 30' waist of pure unadulterated bossom squeezes my hips into oblivion, a flutter of the eyelashes later, and it becomes painfully apparent what actually happened last night. No, it couldn't have. Definitely not, but there was hope, massive hope, a different sort of massive to what was currently residing in my bathroom, this was concrete! Please Liam, you have never looked so beautiful, what with those perfectly placed crumbs and smudgeons of sweet chili sauce from the subway you presumably famished last night resting upon your dimples. Please, tell me, as you stand there in my favourite 'lay around doing fuck all, all day' tshirt that hasn't been washed in about five weeks, that it was you who slept with the lovely girl in my bath room. My eyes widened with relief, and as he let out a huge contagious roar of laughter, we both buckled over. This was the connection that best friends have, not a word had to be spoken, it was his turn to feel shame for a change, not mines. As we both huddled over crying with tears of hungover laughter, I glanced up to see Liam's success story of last night leave the bath room. She glanced at me awkwardly, before looking at Liam for a split second, that split second said more to me than any awkward glance could possibly even come close to. A minute later and she had gone, Liam would probably never see her again. Hopefully I would never see her again, or my toilet for that matter. We could finally start to piece together what happened just a mere six hours ago, but first, this river kanyon has been waiting to burst for a good half an hour.