Saturday night. My girlfriends and I went out to dance. We spent a fabulous night in the city, just the three of us. I was on a roll, I had just experienced a perfect week with my favourite boys.
As you've probably understood, I'm not a shy girl. I'm really good at picking up guys. It runs in the family, my brother and cousins are male versions of me. I just make weird chit-chat with guys I meet. Sometimes I'm the one to initiate the conversation... But mostly I'm being hit on.
So, Saturday. We all looked fine. I started talking with three guys at a club. I was really into this one guy in a black tee, he was my type. His friends were decent-looking as well, if you know what I mean. One of them was a pilot. Sold. He showed me his Tinder profile, but I can't find him. Mister Pilot from Saturday, if you recognize yourself, send me a message, please. My girlfriends joined soon and we all had a blast. That is, until I lost them. I don't recall what I did to lose them, probably went to the loo or to buy a drink...
I was looking for them, when this tall blonde guy turned around and asked me if I was okay - I said no, I just lost my besties. He promised to entertain me until I found them. Well, he entertained me just fine - I woke up at his place five hours later. Oh my god, his flat was the dirtiest little hole I've ever seen. You should have seen his bathroom. I really didn't want to be barefooted in his shower. I don't usually pack flip-flops in my clutch. Maybe I should.
He was the nicest guy in his thirties, funny and kind of cute (although blondes are not really my thing). Apparently he works like 80 hours a week, because he's never home. I was starving, went to the fridge and found nothing. Not even ketchup. That was just odd. He had made all these weird plans about spending the day together. Yeah, no thanks. I got dressed, said bye and took the bus home. I guess I made up a lie about having a meeting or something.
I guess I gave him my number earlier, because he texted me on Sunday, asking how my day went. I was with Mister Orange, curled up in his lap in my undies. Well, I'm juuuuuust fine. Mister Orange was the perfect hangover company. He stroked my hair, fed me, entertained me and well, you know. I really like his style, he's seriously improving, although he's never been bad. Not even middle-class. Right now Mister Orange is in the definite top five.
Perfect for now.
Oh, and the guy in the black tee was married, or engaged. So that was it, then.