Again, I drink too much.
Again, I unleash just a little too much of… whatever… that needs to be hidden from sight.
I don’t even know WHAT I said, I just know it had a stupid effect.
Went out with Andrea last night.
Knew I had a ten hour shift today, but thought fuck it if you can’t stay up all night and then go to work horribly depressed and tired in your twenties, then what kind of animal are you?
Started the night feeling like shit, sort of coming down with something. Stayed strong. Need socialisation.
Stuck to the beer- super wise, just wish it had been enough.
Started the night feeling like shit but managed to get some beers into me and was hugely charming and witty and uproarious.
Made people laugh, made people think. Lots of times had glasses raised to me.
Shared the joyous fact of King Phillip, famous Spanish lisper, with an Argentinian who had never heard why the Spanish talk like that. He clinked my glass so fiercely, a shard of his landed on the chair next to me.
We smoked lots.
The posse was cool. I was so good- everyone was really interested in how the fuck I spoke such good Spanish, everyone thought I was South American too, although they disagreed on which country. Everyone was from Chile, Argentina, Columbia.
When the Columbians went to the bar, the Southern- South Americans laughed at how they spoke. “Weeeeyyyy!” They said, imitating the Columbians favorite filler word. I thought this was funny, because both Chileans and Argentinians litter their speech with their own words that don’t really mean anything.
I was mostly quite good.
I did enter into minor disagreements with a few of the South Americans.
But I didn’t push it.
For instance, one guy began to, completely out of the blue, bemoan the fact that he hadn’t explored ALL of South America, and he felt guilty and un-south american because of this.
I interjected that he could know a few places well and deeply, or lots of places superficially, so he shouldn’t feel bad about his own limited travels, because every day he lives in Italy he is learning about the world. He didn’t really like this point of view- it seemed like his main point had been to moan and whine about being such a bad citizen of a massive continent because he hadn’t seen it all.
I left him to his pointless bellyaching and allowed the uncomfortable “who is this preachy girl” silence to fill back up with normal banter before rejoining the conversation tentatively. Ugh I hate NEW people. I’m so bad at them. Not even through my own blunders as much as that they don’t get my jokes. I don’t crinkle up my face when I make a funny, I do deadpan delivery of my awesome one liners… so if you didn’t grow up with Monty Python etc, you probably aren’t entirely sure if I’m serious or not.
I like to think I’m hugely entertaining. I think people should be appreciative, I may say some stupid pointless drivel sometimes, but at least I provide a lot of fresh conversation and lovely points of view to agree or disagree with. You wouldn’t believe how many times I rescued the table from boring lulls.
Andrea was a lot quieter. She knew everybody so she could safely be a bit loud, but she didn’t bother using this liberty. She was very neutral.
I grew in confidence and began throwing out some of my “Chilean earthquake stories”. I wasn’t present for the earthquake, but a cupboard from Ikea did fall over because it was badly built (by me) and ALL MY PLATES SMASHED. I realise now, I think I realised last night, that’s not a story Chileans can relate to really. But I told it and I reckon I half salvaged the stupid anecdote by looking very nice and admitting to being a self centred asshole because it took my own plates smashing to realise how serious the earthquake was for Chileans, some of whom died in it. I tacked this bit onto the end because I realised how awful my story was, apart from being awful it was boring. So I added a lesson. Then I told my long lunch story, about when there WAS an earthquake and it just so happened to be when I took my long lunch so my dad found out about my long lunch which no one should have known about, because he was calling to see if it was ok. That little story ends with a line that goes something like “can you believe my LUCK? The one dayI take an hour for lunch, and a fucking earthquake happens” But that’s meant to give a sort of subtle commentary on how other people in earthquakes really do have shitty luck and lose lots of important things, but all I got was a bit of hassle over a long lunch. And people are supposed to get that I’m laughing at that, and being serious about it, and stuff.
But people who don’t know me, don’t get that. So I just come off as some weird shallow self important girl.
….Which is also true, but then a lot of conflicting things can be true at the same time, and people don’t tend to get that.
I AM shallow as fuck. But I’m also absolutely not at all.
I just wish people could see that without me having to add canned laughter so people would know when I’m being silly and flippant… and then other times when I’m talking from some uncomfortable part of my body that knows first hand about things.
Someone brought out a round of tequila. I shook everyone’s hand solemnly, and announced that I apologised in advance for anything I might say or do later. This got a cheap laugh but my real intention was to mark the descent into bad drunkeness so people would honestly forgive me later.
We moved to a proper club and Andrea and I were separated from the rest of the (all male, none hot) crew, and we went to a horrible unisex toilet that was a hole in the ground. I got my period, fun times… and I peed all over my shoes. I kind of knew I was getting my period (I was actually starting to freak out that some spunks had made their way through the condom last time I did the bold thing, but no, false alarm) so I had some expensive period-absorbtion devices with me.
We danced to some surprisingly hardcore dance music. I don’t know what genre it was, I’m so uncool like that… But I got to pull out my mystical hand weaving dance moves and the lights were epilepsy-inducing so that half the frames in my dancing were skipped, and that was good, the great equaliser in dancing.
People smacked into my back and beer spilt on my front. I didn’t care. I looked really good. If not my best, something very close. I wore a super sexy dress but not too short, so I could dance and not be all paranoid about flashing people. I had brushed my hair and put on a considerable but relatively natural amount of makeup.
I danced loads, and Andrea danced, and I noted with great satisfaction that she was copying some of my shitty moves. She obviously had low dancing self esteem too, or at least when it came to electronic music. I felt a bit smug. For some reason, something akin to boasting, which is a part of me that I really hate when I drink, I yelled in her ear “I MISS DRUGS!” I don’t know why I thought this was a good thing to shout at Andrea, but she shouted back: “ME TOO” so then I felt ok. I have a horrible tendency to try and impress people with things that wouldn’t impress ME, like “I used to do a lot of drugs” or “I’m pretty fucking slutty” or other stuff like that.
I very nearly announced to Andrea that I had very nearly got jiggy with a woman at a music festival. It’s like drunk me thinks these things are impressive, like drunk me has never grown up at all. I am ashamed of drunk me because drunk me thinks even getting divorced is impressive and exciting, whereas sober me is embarassed and realises it’s some real, hard shit.
Drunk me blurts things out that most people try to hide, because drunk me is all about getting reactions and looking like a fucking rebel or something. I hate drunk me.
We dance for a while.
Then we go to another club and dance to really undancable songs like some Bob Dylan, REM, Radiohead… etc. I say a lot of stupid things like “Sheesh, all that’s missing is Nirvana” and I repeat it later because at the time it seemed like I had alighted on something clever and biting. I was starting to really annoy myself. I was actually really enjoying my dance, the electronic music had been so taxing because I felt the need to dance every little tiny beat so I was basically having a fit, whereas with the songs to slit your wrists to collection, I was able to have a nice chilled dance. I was convinced I was emulating a gorgeous black girl I had seen at a Bryan Ferry concert, who had managed to look really sexy and rhythmic while just sort of bending and unbending her knees and moving her hands a bit. I was blind drunk, I probably looked more like a fucking teapot than that girl, but in my own little pickled head I was like effortless-sexy-chic.
Men tried to dance with both Andrea and I, pretty much evenly I might add. It wasn’t so embarassing like the other times we went out and it was ALL her, and I felt like the ugly friend. It was pretty even, although I did get plan- b’d by one guy. Plan b is when your better looking friend turns a guy down and he turns a 180 and asks you to dance or whatever. It’s insulting. I’d rather be ignored than plan b’d.
Anyway, it was fun. We emptied out onto the street, down by the river, and sat on a wide step where we found our original posse or most of it. HERE things began deteriorating.
Of course it deteriorated, I didn’t realise but it was 6am at this stage. It didn’t feel like it, but it was 6am. I had to be in work at 10.30 am, leaving the house at 9.30 to arrive on time.
I sat there and I don’t remember what I said to one of the guys. I think we compared ages- I have, again, a horrible trait that comes out when I am drunk… I enjoy people being surprised by my young age. I hate this, but I brag about how young I am when I’m drunk. Man I really hate drunk me. I’m such a tool.
Anyway whatever drunken drivel I came out with, this guy seized it and began arguing with me.
“What, you think you’re so mature? You think you’re so much more mature than other 23 year olds?”
I was startled. What? No! I didn’t say anthing LIKE that! I don’t think I’m mature, in fact the idea of maturity is one of my pet hates. I hate coming across young people who throw around ideas like “MATURE” or “I’m young but I happen to like old music” or some shit like that. I think it’s pretentious bullshit.
So I argued that I couldn’t remember what I had said, but that definitely wasn’t it.
“So you’re saying you don’t have anything in common with 23 year olds?”
Dude, that’s closer to the possibility of something I may have said, but still, I KNOW I DIDNT SAY THAT!
He continues to paraphrase, each time wildly different so I feel confident that I really didn’t say what he said I said.
I argue with my dazzling logic and of course all of this is in Spanish, so I’m pretty fucking wonderful at Spanish by the way.
This cunt is fixated on the idea that I think I’m better than everyone else (true, but I just KNOW I’m better at hiding this fact than just blurting it out. I keep that shit under wraps, there’s no way I just let it colour my sentences even drunk. It’s a basic secret that is constantly filtered out of all potential conversation) and that I think I’m the fucking godfather of young people.
I bring out my ace card.
“I’m going through a fucking DIVORCE!” Out of context, perhaps. Don’t remember. I grin madly, convinced I have won the argument. He will be both shamed and impressed into bowing out, admitting I have such a massive burden to carry that he can’t know what’s going on and he’s out of his league. I forget, he’s also drunk.
I tend to think divorce will impress people when I’m drunk, there are lots of things like this that I have no control over but that are like the opposite of my sober opinions.
Urgh… feel bile rising. I’m at work by the way. Just got a bottle of fizzy water as a sort of hung over palate cleanser, but my mouth feels so foul, it tastes like a fucking bus hand rail. I have never licked a bus hand rail, by the way. I’m not THAT disgusting. My friend in school, Melanie, she licked a bus hand rail one time on a dare. Then she got some disease, I don’t know if it was because of licking the pole or not… but it may have been mono. She also licked the wall of a very dirty pub, but no one dared her that time, she was just trying to impress boys. It was about as successful as my way of impressing boys back then- which was to allow them to think I was going to have sex with them in the pub toilets and then chicken out when they were putting on the condom. These boys were definitely not impressed, and also they went and told everyone we DID have sex anyway. Everyone thought I was a massive slut in school. I wasn’t that much of a slut really. What happened was this other girl, one of my good friends, she WAS a massive slut. She was a really bubbly fun girl with curly hair and big boobs. I don’t know why these features make women fun and slutty, they just seem to make an excellent stereotype. She had the same name as me. She doesn’t any more, because she killed herself two years later. She was a fun girl, but she was a tremendous slut. But everyone mixed us up, because of these boys I had apparently had sex with in the toilets, and the fact that we had the same names, and the HUGE quantity of guys she had sucked and fucked in our school. So half of her slutty adventures were attributed to me. One time we were walking to get the bus home, and one random guy from school carried her schoolbag for her, jokingly “in exchange for head.” She later got off the bus and went back, and met up with him (unbeknownst to me, I found out the next day because she also bragged when drunk about things she wasn’t proud of) and gave him head in a public toilet.
Anyway. She was a really fun girl, she had bitchy tendencies but then so did we all, we were in school. She hung her neck off a washing line and now she won’t ever get to grow up and have a nice life and grow out of her sluttiness and low self esteem and slight tendency to bitchiness. So that’s a shame, I was really sad when I found out she was dead. We used to fight over our name. We would fight over who would be Gwendoline 1, who was Gwendoline 2. That is not our name by the way. I remember one of the saddest things I thought about when I found out she was dead was that now I was going to be Gwendoline 1, and she couldn’t argue with that shit any more. I wanted to call her up and tell her this so she wouldn’t do it, but obviously whatever shit was in her head was more important to her than being Gwen 1 or 2. Maybe she was depressed because she was so slutty. Maybe her parents, who probably drove her to give strange boys blow jobs in toilets, maybe they were mean to her. Maybe she found out she had aids or was pregnant. We all had theories, most of them centred on the slutty aspect of our dear friend’s behaviour. That was a pity, and kind of mean, but then that’s why you don’t kill yourself- because when you’re dead, everyone who knew you gets to decide who or what you were. So don’t kill yourself
Anyway so I was telling you my mouth tastes like shit. It really does. My brain feels like shit too, but it’s ok, I only had lots of beer so I’ll be ok.
I managed to resist the lure of the Jagermeister.
But I did fall into this argument with this guy, about what my opinion of people my age might be.
I was at a disadvantage because I couldn’t actually remember what I had said to ignite this discussion, but I was damn well going to argue what I had MEANT anyway.
I really looked lovely last night. Such a pity, my face looks like old newspaper today. I feel like I’m made from paper mache, except paper mache that has its period. OHHHH MY POOR WOMB. Cringe remembering mentioning my womb last night, what context? Can’t remember.
Still arguing with this dude about how I may or may not have said something about being so much more mature than other people my age. I think I made a brilliant case for having only said that in general, people I meet who are my age, are not doing the same things as me, so I ultimately don’t get a huge thrill from their company. He doesn’t get that I’m being honest and make amazing sense. He gets all affronted. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I WORK!
I’m like, yeah of course, whatever… I didn’t say ALL FUCKING 23 YEAR OLDS DONT DO THE SAME SHIT AS ME, I SAID THAT MOST 23 YEAR OLDS I MEET ARE IN DIFFERENT PLACES IN THEIR LIVES. I am going through divorce, I work every day, I have a mortgage and bills and I live alone. This is different to most people my age. I don’t think I’m better than other people, I think they are clever for not having got married so young etc. I am saying that when I am grumpy and want to talk about my problems, I would want to talk to people who GET my problems.I also don’t want to be a big old bore to everyone.
I made a lot of good sense, except I don’t actually know what I said in the first place to provoke this guy. I may have said “kill the poor” or “I love the smell of smegma in the morning.”
I told this guy that whatever I said, I didn’t MEAN what he keeps saying I mean. I am drunk, I remind him.
He insists some stupid shit. I tell him I know I couldn’t have meant these things he thinks I meant, because as I don’t THINK them, I can’t have meant them, see?
He insists on repeating different variations of “so what you’re saying is that anyone below the age of 30 is an idiot?” and I get really pissed off and I’m like “hey you know what REALLY pisses me off? Being paraphrased. The only thing I’m SAYING is the things I am saying. If you regurgitate what I said, but different, it’s not what I said, is it? If I say, “most people I my age who I have met recently, I don’t have a lot in common with” then THAT IS ALL I MEAN.
This argument was hugely frustrating. I knew I wasn’t as bad as this guy was making out. I knew he was paraphrasing me all wrong. I knew he was being massively defensive for some reason that I wasn’t aware of.
But I was drunk, so I kept pissing in the swimming pool of my own reason, and I began fishing out pee-soaked arguments like
“say you like fishing for carp. You want to talk about fishing for carp. What are you going to do, go hang out with people who fish for carp or hang out with people who like playing golf?”
and “Say you get bitten by a mouse. What are you going to want to do, go talk to other people who have been bitten by mice, or hang out in an antique store discussing china patterns of the 15th century?”
and “If 5% of people my age are astronauts, and that’s a conservative estimate, (I forgot what conservative meant because I was drunk. I meant the opposite.) then what am I supposed to do, go to the fucking MOON?”
None of these arguments made any sense, but they made a much greater impact on this annoying man boy. He was able to fight against those arguments because they were stupid, where he hadn’t been able to fight against me good arguments. So he listened to my stupid arguments and not my sound ones, because they were “what he had expected to hear.”
He asked me what I wanted from life, like it was some big fucking mystical secret or something I was supposed to be confused about.
So I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which I wouldn’t take back now that I’m sober. I was like “I want to see a lot of stupid shit I can laugh at, and I want to come across a lot of people who will laugh at them with me.”
And I was quite proud of my summing up then and there, drunk, pretty much everything I care about in life. But he just looked all unimpressed and started saying that I should be more open with people, and I could share my problems with him and the other guys. And I was like, what the fuck? So I started up being like who the fuck are you talking to? I couldn’t be more open and honest if I tried. I’m the most open fucking book you will ever meet. Ask me anything. Ask me about masturbation, ask me about loneliness, ask me about what I hate about myself. Ask me anything. Ask me fucking anything and I will never blink before answering honestly. I won’t tell you that’s a weird question, or I’m sorry but that’s restricted information or too personal. If you want to know, I want to tell. But I am trying very fucking hard to keep all the shit in, so I don’t blurt it out to people I don’t know. Because I don’t like being this person. I’m a fun person. I’m fun to be around, in my natural state. I’m good humoured, I make jokes in hospitals when everyone’s all sombre and I smile all the fucking time. Everything makes me laugh. But this isn’t me, I hate being this person who’s gloomy. I don’t want to be all, like, “hi, I’m Gwen, I’m getting a divorce and I’m in debt and I secretly resent people my age for being innocent of a certain amount of responsibility that I have taken upon myself.”
Because I want to be fun me, and I want people to laugh and not leave me on my own to deal with my shit. I want to be able to shout “MOTHERFUCKING LLAMA PENIS” but I can’t, because people will think I’m crazy.
My friends wouldn’t think I was crazy if I said that, but they know me so they know that I’m just a bit out of sync with the rest of them, and that’s it. I can shout things at random if I want, I can whine and moan about being dragged out of the house when I’m hung over to get chips and then after walking for miles with all this traffic around, the chipper being closed. I can annoy my friends all I like, because I’m nice to them too and they laugh when I’m being grumpy. I like that.
But not with people I don’t know. People I don’t know have to be treated gingerly and not have the shit thrust upon them. (Hehe thrust)
I don’t even know why I didn’t just be like “whatever, hater, I’m outtie” and ditch that argumentative dick. But I was drunk arguing, so it escalated. Eventually– I don’t know what was said…. But myself and Andrea were getting the bus home and saying goodbye to the remaining 4 guys in our crue. The one I had been arguing with, who I suddenly noticed was wearing a blue t shirt, didn’t shake my hand or go for a kiss on the cheek like the others. He just sort of waggled his hand as I stood there awkward. It was a huge rejection. I realised I was being knocked back over a stupid drunken row. I just hoped the others (most of whom I actually thought were pretty nice) were sensible enough to think we were both just having a stupid drunk person’s fight, and everyone won’t think I’m an egocentric ageist bitch like I really am. I couldn’t bear to have alienated 4 people in one fell swoop.
It was 6am. I was convinced the night bus was no longer running. She insisted that the morning bus had started. I couldn’t grasp the concept that it was both night time and morning, so I coerced her into a taxi by swearing I would pay for it all.
I paid for it all. I got home, turned on my computer and fell asleep with it in my arms. I think the plan had been to watch some porn, but I was so depressed from my stupid argument that I couldn’t bring myself to think about fucking someone in my head.
So I went to sleep.
Andrea and I had sensibly set our alarms previously.
Even still, I woke up at 9.55. I had to leave at 9.40 at the absolute latest to get to work on time. I put on horrible mismatched clothing, looked at my face, shuddered, brushed my teeth for all the good that did me, and called a taxi croaking RIGHT NOW PLEASE.
Megabitch on the phone said “4 minutes” crisply and hung up.
I legged it downstairs swallowing horrible mouthwash.
Felt like 10 minutes had passed, wasn’t sure as was shaking violently and felt like an alien was about to pop out of my stupid lady parts. Urgh.
Felt like 10 minutes had definitely passed, so ran paranoid upstairs and rang the taxi back. I tell megabitch I’m still waiting. Look at clock- 15 minutes have passed since I called. She puts me on hold and then comes back saying “he’s nearly there- one minute.”
I believe megabitch and go back to my street corner looking like Julia Roberts’ less fortunate coworker in Pretty Woman. Urgh feel rough. People outside the bar across the road look at me, bemused. They are all regulars. They all saw me strut past last night looking like a fucking movie star. I am destroyed today, crushed by my face and my personality. I’m a little parcel of recycled human. I used to be a decent person, now I am a wailing cursing loud obnoxious person who allows other human people to realise how fucking awful I am, just like them. I presume other people are just like me, but they are better at lying about it. They do things like pretend they really give money to a bum because they care, and not because they want to be a person who cares. Urgh I do like people, I just resent that they act like by being exactly who I am which is just the fucking same as everyone else, I am somehow acting in some manner that isn’t ok. What the fuck? I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t attacked anyone. I have never even told a child that Santa wasn’t real, even though I am an atheist and I kind of half think that teaching kids to believe in shit of any kind is just training them for superstition and bullshit. But I am not a heartless bitch so I let my sisters have Santa and fairies.
Anyway. Taxi shows up at 10.27.
I have to be in work at 10.30 to clock in and open the shop. It’s saturday, and my dad and boss knows I went out last night because that’s why I didn’t have dinner with my family, because I was going out. I can’t use any excuse, even the taxi being late is my fault because I should have woken up on time to get the bus. It’s bad. It’s saturday, the shop needs to be open so I can dry heave at old hags as they hum and haw over 10 euro bargain bin shoes and tell me their fucking life stories.
I get in the taxi as it pulls to a casual, cheery halt outside.
I say hello, bark my destination and taxi takes off like a little fucking Thomas the tank engine.
I snap, “what happened?” at the innocent taxi driver.
“I ORDERED THIS TAXI HALF AN HOUR AGO”
Oh. I just got the call 4 minutes ago.
I fume. This is down to megabitch on the phone, not taxi man. But I will not be actively nice, he is still a party to this. I tell him I am late for work and let him see my urgency in my tense sitting and tutting and my overly panicky regard to traffic lights.
He observes me in the mirror and sees exactly how much I hate that it’s my fault I’m late, really, and megabitch just took my get out of late free card.
It costs me 15 euros to arrive late for work.
I arrive and have no time for a sandwich or coffee.
My fucking internal organs feel like shit.
My face looks like shit.
I have horrible memories of being someone I don’t like, and sort of being in the right too, but also saying some stupid shit. BUT ALSO, being in the right is still someone I dislike, if other people don’t see that I am right. So it’s a bit harsh really, I just can’t bear people to dislike me even if I do think they are TOOLS.
My opinion of that guy last night?
Ignorant pig fucker who thinks he’s qualified to give advice just because he thinks he’s better than me because I said ONE stupid thing, and by the way he said so many stupid things that it cancelled me out I am sure.
But I still can’t handle him not liking me, or him getting me wrong. this shit is fucked up.
Anyway. I am just hung over. I am aware I will feel differently once I get some greasy pizza into me and get home and sleep and drink water and play oblivion, if I can handle it today.
Gawd I’m so sick of people not getting my jokes and my frivolous conversation.
I remember last night this Columbian guy was like, where are you from, and I said Ireland, and he was massively surprised, because he thought I was from South America. And I laughed and I was like, it’s cause I look so South American, ha ha!
And he was all apologetic, and humbly, pathetically begging my pardon for offending me.
And I was like no! no! Why would that offend me? I’m joking because I’m so goddamn pale looking! Jeeeeesus! And anyway, it’s a massive compliment for a S.American to mistake me for ANOTHER S. American, that means my spanish is good enough to fool you after a fucking hour of convo! That’s a massive compliment!
And he’s all relived, but I can’t help but be sick to the stomach because what kind of person, when someone is OFFENDED to be mistaken for their compatriot, would be all apologetic? If I guessed someone was Irish and they got all offended, I’d be like, fuck you, it was an honest mistake and how DARE you have such a low opinion of my nationality that you get offended to be mistaken for an Irish person? And I would passionately hate that person and bitch about them to lots of people and consider them a racist forever.
But anyway, it’s just another kind of way people don’t get my meaning. It’s annoying. And I wasn’t even trying to get drunk, I only had like 5 or 6 beers and that tequila. Oh no actually I spent 50 euro so that’s more beers. I was also out from 11pm to 6am, so that’s a lot of beers. Anyway. Whatever amount of beers, it was too many beers.
Hope I didn’t fuck things up too much. Have to stop beating self up about being shit at new people.
Oh man now there are French nuns in my shop. I think they are plain clothes nuns. They have see through head scarves on their heads with weird decorative lace on them. I think they are kind of Amish looking, they look like middle class French people from Medieval times. Or that’s the idea I’m getting anyway. They may not be nuns. They are definitely French.
I feel sick. They are making lots of noise moving bags and things. I want to smack the nuns. They have digital cameras around their necks.
Go away. I feel dirty and like they are judging me.
A woman comes in, looks shiftily at the nuns and then asks for a shoe size. I bellow no and then smile to cover the bellowing. She takes that to mean I don’t have any other sizes than the ones on display, and I don’t bother correcting her. She tries jamming her stupid feet into a load of tiny shoes. She nearly falls over even though there are seats right beside her for the purpose of trying on shoes. She is a stupid wench.
A lot of fat women in the shop today. Normally I humour them and waste their time making them try on stuff that MAY fit. But it never does. Today I am like NO we don’t have anything big. The fat women are really fat. Every woman today has been massively fat. It’s not belly, it’s a fucking flotatin device around the middle. They are little michelin men. They are all short too.
They look offended by my lack of sizes. I shrug. I want to go home, I have 8 more hours to work today. Oh no I have less, I have 6. AWESOME I HAVE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR LIKE AN HOUR. What a way to while away time while michelin women roam the shop like packs of wildebeest and those nuns left without saying bye, which is rude. I decide to hate religion a little bit extra today just to spite them.
Ugh must stop now this is nearly 6000 words, that’s too many words really.
I can’t remember how many I normally write but this is more, I feel.
I will get to 6000 and then stop because I like to keep things rounded.
Ok so that will be pretty much now, I think.
Yep. That’s 6000.