Fellow blogger, Ryan, has recently taken to bribing me to go out and get laid. She started by promising me champagne and home-baked sweets.
But then she promised to show me her interpretive dance skills.
So last Friday night, on my quest to make Ryan showcase her infamous finger-snapping, thumb-pointing dance moves (<–), I managed to:
- lure some young man to my apartment,
- lose my pants,
- and earn fifteen euros.
The night started out harmlessly enough. My flatmates and I met up with some friends at our regular pub. For reasons as yet unclear, I had a bit too much to drink. We met these guys, and somehow, I thought that all three of them were named Guillermo. I was probably too off my face to bother with their real names.
After approximately five minutes of conversation, I pounced on one of them.
Classy, I know. I’m not sure WHICH Guillermo it was, but I didn’t really care at the time. I was thinking: “You’re my ticket to Ryan’s dance-a-thon!”
One thing led to another, and the Guillermos came home with us.
But then, most likely due to the fact that my blood had been replaced with alcohol, I became very, very stupid.
My decision-making process here was VERY hazy, but the end result was that I bolted out of the sitting room, ran off to bed, snuggled with my hot water bottle, drooled on it a bit, and then passed out.
Obviously, by then, I had completely forgotten about Ryan’s bribe.
When I awoke the next morning, I was disorientated, hungover, un-sexed (damn!), and very confused about the current state of affairs in my bed…
I was still fully clothed from the waist up (shirt, sweater AND scarf).
But I wasn’t wearing any pants.
As I glanced around my room, I realized that my pants were nowhere to be found. In fact, I checked every room in the apartment.
“Oh well,” I thought. “Who needs pants anyway? My underwear is bitchin’.”
So I wandered woozily back into the sitting room, where my Guillermo had left his phone number on the table. As I peered at it through one eye (I can only open one at a time when I’m hungover, apparently), I realized that he had signed it “N.”
I thought, “Wow, I didn’t know that Guillermo starts with an N.”
Yeah… I was probably still a little drunk.
Then, during my morning-after wallet-check, I found fifteen euros.
Considering my inebriation of the night before, I didn’t — couldn’t — think about where it came from or what I did to earn it. So I just mumbled, “Cool,” and shuffled back to bed.
So what have I learned from my one-night non-stand?
- I should not drink white wine. Nothing good comes of it.
- Even at my drunkest, I am unable to follow through with a one-night stand. So I will stick to other, tamer methods of courtship.
- I love my hot water bottle more than sex.
- I will never let Ryan bribe me ever again.
- I need more pants.
- Guillermo does not, in fact, start with the letter N.
- Guillermo, in fact, is not named Guillermo.
In any case, since I will forever associate non-Guillermo with such a disastrous night, we really have no future together. So I must say:
n.b. Special prize will go to the first person to correctly guess where I ended up finding my pants.