13 posts tagged “wine”

I leaned against the bathroom door, staring at the pregger-ancy test in my hand.

What if I am preggers? What if there's a little baby inside me?

More importantly: What if it's Bert's? I will not have my little baby girl (or boy) see her (or his) father wearing women's clothing! No! I won't have it!

Thus, I'll say she (or he) is Tom's. And that is that.

But having a tiny baby in my life might be quite nice, really. Name it. Dress it in cool little outfits. Be all motherly and whatnot. Maybe Elle could get preggers too and we could get matching strollers and then the babies could grow up together and be best friends. That would be so fab.

But what if Tom bolts? I'd be all alone. A Single Mother. No. He wouldn't do that, not to me.

...Would he?

Oh, God. He would. I know he would. He can't even stay loyal to me when we're just having a casual thing! He would go sodding bonkers and leave the country if he knew I was with child!

I wiped furiously at a stray tear that escaped from the corner of my eye. No. No, no, no. I cannot be pregnant. I can't be. That's all there is to it!!

I sat down on the toilet and stuck the pee stick between my thighs. I was all nerved up and anxious, I couldn't even make myself go pee. I slapped the dry test on the counter, marched past Elle into the kitchen and reached for the wine.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Elle shouted.

I pulled the cork out of the bottle. "Wot? I can't pee!"

"Liquor might hurt the-the-the..." She gestured to my abdomen. "The thing! You sodding twit!"

"Oh..." I put the wine back in the cupboard. "Right." 

It was a little ironic, in my mind: Liquor had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

"I'll have to go buy some juice or something," I said. "I'll be back in a minute."

I ran into Bert on my way to the door. Shit. I dared not meet his eyeline.

"Elise, I remembered something else about last night..." he said. "...Did we or didn't we use a condom?"

I stared at him. Oh, fuck.

I turned around. Elle's eyes were as big as saucers. "What the..." She looked at me. "The baby's not Tom's, is it?!"  

Oh, double fuck. 

When Elle got back from shagging her quite attractive boyfriend, she burst into the shop. She started screaming like the lunatic that she is. She woke me up, actually. I was uncertain where I was at first. Yes, I have woken up with someone else's foot in my face, but never in the shop. (Come to think of it, I once woke up with my own foot in my face... That was an interesting night...)

I started screaming with Elle when faint memories from the night before crashed back into my mind. Bert. Wine. Search for condom. Giving up on the search. Wild, mad, rabid, drunken shagging.

Oh, good God.

I pushed Bert's leg off me and he toppled onto the floor. "Oy. What the..." He winced around, the mid-day sun hitting his sleepy face. He looked at me, looked at himself, looked at the blanket that wasn't doing a great job covering his skinny, naked body.

"No," he said suddenly. "We didn't."

Elle wasn't saying anything. Her mouth just hung open. She looked a bit like a fish, really. I just wanted to shove a sandwich in her big open gob.

I didn't say anything. I knew for a fact that yes, sadly and unfortunately, we had. This is me, here. Pissed or sober, I do enjoy shagging. But as I was blind drunk, I would want to shag anybody... and in this case, it was Bert.

Bert the Trannie.

Bert slowly rose to his feet, holding the blanket around himself. He glanced at Elle. "Morning."

"You two shagged!!" Elle shouted. "On Auntie Madge's couch!!"

I cringed. Oh, what an awful thought.

That afternoon, I called Tom. Some guy answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi. Is Tom there?"

"Yes, baby. Just a sec."

Jesus. I shag a trannie and Tom goes gay? What on earth is wrong with this day?! ...That rhymed. Fab.

"Hey Elise! How are you? Get into any trouble last night?"

Yes.

"No. Just sat home watching EastEnders... Who answered the phone just now?"

"Oh. That was Billie."

I blinked. "You've gone gay. Fab. Could this day get any worse?"

"Billie's a girl, you twat!"

"Yeah, I bet." I scratched the back of my neck. "Tom, we have to talk..." I bit my lip. "I think I might be pregnant."

Yes, call me a bitch, whatever you like. At that moment, I didn't care. I didn't even know if I was preggers or not. However, I would much rather say Tom is the father of my pretend baby than recognize Bert The Trannie as the dad.

Although, a little baby might not be so bad...

Erlack.

Valentine’s Day.

The one day I generally try to hide away from.  Blokes scrambling to buy presents and cards and chocolates and go out their way to do a whole bunch of useless “romantic” things that involve fancy food and flowers.  Rubbish the whole thing, I say.

But of course, that was before I had a Valentine’s Day with Theo. 

He was unbelievably quite good about the entire thing. 

When he came to pick me up, Elise and I were nursing the worst hangovers known to man.  He brought me a rose.  And my wall of anti-Valentine’s crumbled and exploded at the same time.  This was the first time Elise had met Theo and she was all over him (well not really, but I could tell she wanted to be) and was green with envy.

Anyroad, Theo and I were going back to his place to cook something “together” (meaning he gets me to get things and he cooks).  He really is quite bonkers for cooking.  I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that he is attending a culinary college.  We were having a grand old time.

And then he pulled out the cooking sherry.  I had already had a glass (or two) of some really vintage (and expensive) wine.  Needless to say, I began drinking the sherry too.  Soon enough, we had turned our “romantic” evening into a Julia Childs cooking show; we had got pretty pissed on sherry and wine.  And then the onslaught of sloppy drunken kisses came on.

And more wine.  And more kisses. 

And then I don’t remember much afterwards. 

But I could pretty well guess after I woke up next to him in his bed, with two gays standing at the end of the bed, going “ooooooer” and holding trays of food.

I wish somebody had of told me that gays were pervs, too.

After being extremely embarrassed and having brekkie in bed (in the nuddy pants) with Theo, I left as soon as I had the chance.  And by that, I mean after we had a post-breakfast… shag.  Good God, I sound like Elise. 

At least until Theo realized he had to go to work.  He kissed me on the cheek before dashing off, hopping into his trousers.  So his roomies (Simon and Julian, respectively) took me home in the “Homobile” (as they have dubbed it).  They promised to have Theo call me when he got home and also apologized for this morning.  I accepted their apology.  How could you possibly stay mad at those two for long?  They’re regular couple of jokers (and not dating, strictly friends).

Anyways, after waving them off, I found that the front door of the shop was left unlocked, but the sidewalk sign wasn’t out and lights weren’t on.  I opened the door to find the shop to be a minefield of wine bottles and clothing.  I tip-toed carefully over everything, trying not to fall on my face into a puddle of wine or knickers, to reach the kitchen.  When I got to the doorway, I was quite surprised to see what I did.  It wasn’t at all what I had expected.

Elise and Bert were lying under a blanket on Auntie Madge’s couch.  Naked.

My breakfast didn’t stay down long.

Well, this day started off fabulously. I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever had- thanks for that Elle. And then I realized that it was sodding Valentine's Day. It's lovely when you've got someone but it's shit when you don't.

Last year, Mark and I went on the London Eye and had dinner at a romantic restaurant and got champagne and shagged about thirty thousand times.

I called Tom, just to see if he wanted to get together, but he says he's got a date with some trollop he met online. I bet she's fat. Fat and ugly. And I hope she's rubbish in bed. Or, better yet, I hope Tom suddenly becomes "unable" and she laughs at him.

Ah, yes. That would be fab.

Well, sod it. Sod this whole day.

Elle is off with Theo tonight. God, he really is quite cool. And pleasant. And polite. And charming. And sodding gorgeous. I still have yet to figure out what he sees in her... and not in me.

I found Bert in the kitchen, slowly sipping at a bottle of cheap wine. I ruffled his hair.

"I thought you had some gig tonight," I said. "Some anti-Valentine's Day poetry thing."

Bert glanced at me and scowled. "It got cancelled. The MC got a date at the last minute." He bleched. "The fucking nob."

I sat down across from him and held his hand. "Oh, Bert. I'm sorry. I know you were really looking forward to it." I smiled weakly. "You were going to borrow my nicest outfit and everything for it."

Bert sighed loudly, his shoulders dropped. "Plus, you know... Elle's out with Theo tonight." He looked at me. "He's such a prat, i'n't he?"

I nodded. "Yes." No, not really. "He certainly is."

Bert finished off that bottle and pulled another one out of a paper bag. "Here. Drink up. If I'm going to have a shit Valentine's, I might as well be pissed."

So, Bert and I drank several bottles of wine, laughed, watched a little telly... and then ran out of wine. So, naturally, we stumbled out of the shop, hunting for more wine.

"That'll be twenty pounds please," said the liquor store clerk with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed and looked at Bert. "Fuck. I don't have any money."

Bert waved a hand at me and slapped twenty quid on the counter. "Keep d'change, eh? You're a good man s'ya can keep d'change!"

"Er, thanks."

So, we stumbled back to the shop, which we had accidently left unlocked- oh well. We drank a couple more bottles of wine and fell onto the floor in front of Elle's desk after dancing around to music on the radio.

"I could be a singa!" I exclaimed, bottle in hand. "See? Watch." I sang into the wine bottle like a microphone. "So, if you're lonely, you know I'll be here wai'in for you! I'm just a crosshair! I'm just a shot away from you!"

"You know," Bert said, interrupting my jam session. "You're actually quite pretty! And sometimes I feel so bad, Elle treats you like rubbish sometimes and you don't deserve it."

"I know I won't be leaving here... wiiiiiith yoooooou!!"

Bert stumbled over to me. "I'm gon' kiss you, zat alright?"

And then he did. And it was actually kind of nice... well, nice for being a drunken kiss. Not too sloppy or dribbly.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur, unfortunately. I do remember that there was some removal of clothing... and I sang some more, but I was in my knickers... and then there something about looking for something and then giving up.

Oh, my God. I know what we were looking for before we just said "to tell with it". Oh, my God.

We were looking for a condom.

Oh, shit. 

I’ve finally done it.  I’ve gotten rid of the ape man for Elise.

Date Number Six went as planned, for me anyroad.

I showed up at Black Book’s a few minutes before Manny was suppose to come get “Elise” from the shop; wearing one of her frocks, with my hair curled and such, thanks to Bert.  Apparently I’ve never looked better.  Git.

I strutted my way across the street in Elise’s high heels to Bernard’s shop.  I’d been practicing in them, so I didn’t fall on my arse and make a complete fool of Elise.  Bert’s also an ass for his teaching techniques.  He took a long measure stick and hit me with it every time I moved the wrong way in them, making my arse completely blue and tender to sit on for a week and a half.

When I walked in the shop, Fran told me later, Bernard’s jaw hit the floor.  (Yes, Fran knew by then.  Blabbergob told her.)  When Manny came down, wearing his pinstripe suit with that annoying electric pink button up shirt of his, he made a comment that drove Bernard wild.

“Well, well,” he started, circling me.  I did my best to giggle in an Elise-like fashion.  He took my arm and through his when Bernard said, “She looks an awful lot like Elle today.”  Fran tried to elbow him in the ribs, but he pushed her away.  Manny raised his eyebrows at them for a second before saying, “Well, they are twins.  It’s like I’m dating a copy of Elle, but better.”  I was sorely tempted to rip that bloody beard off his face at that moment.  “In fact, if they were one in the same person, it would be like I was dating Elle,” he mused, as we began to head for the door.  Bernard nearly jumped over his desk to strangle Manny, but Fran caught him before him actually did. 

On the way to the restaurant, Manny told me stories of how he had bested Bernard in several things; any of the stories ended with Bernard seeming like a dithering, drooling vegetable and Manny being some amazing, super-intelligent bloke, who kicked Bernard around.

 We ended up at some snazzy French restaurant, where I proceeded to put my masterplan to act.  I told some outrageous porkies about myself, which made Manny inquire about me.  As “Elise”, I turned the tables on him, playing up the psycho girlfriend card.  I waited awhile, knowing he’d have to think some of the things over, and he did. 

On our walk home, he asked me why it was always Elle getting me, “Elise,” out of sticky situations.  That’s when I exploded on him.

 “Why are you always on about my sister?!  Would you rather date her?!” I shouted at him.  Manny gets quite upset easily.  I let him calm me down while we walked back to my shop; this time I refused to take his arm until just before our street.  The amount of wine I convinced him to drink was making him a little bit cheeky, and he asked for a goodnight kiss before he left me on the doorstep.

“A kiss?” I exclaimed, dropping his arm.

“Yeah…yes, just before we both turn in for the evening,” he said, smiling.  Part two of my plan went into action.

“A kiss?!  And do you know where that will lead us, do you?!”

“To our first kiss?” he asked.  I had refused to kiss him on every date he took “Elise” on.

“I’m trying to have an honest relationship with you and you want to kiss me?!  We’ll just end up all over my room, pashing all over the place!  Do you think I’m just an easy piece of skirt?”

Manny became very upset and started stuttering that that wasn’t what he meant.

“I promised my sister and my support group that I would decline from having sex until I was married!  Are you trying to take advantage of me, Manny Bianco?!”  I yelled some more, attracting people on the street, which made Manny nervous. 

 Then I suddenly burst into tears, screaming that he was better off without me and so on and so forth (you know, what Elise had actually wanted me to do in the first place).  After that, Manny ran to hide in the safety of Black Book’s, while I went inside, stripping off Elise’s frock, throwing it somewhere on the shop floor, along with the crumpled tissues I had shoved in my bra.

I walked in on Bert trying frocks on in Elise’s room, in my knickers.  He yelped when I opened the door, frightening me, so that I tripped and fell down the stairs, because I had forgot to take those stupid shoes off.  Grabbing the nearest thing on the floor to wrap myself in, I said, blushing, to Bert, “It would appear that this is our new lounge.” Bert laughed.  After I pulled some decent clothes (Elise’s) on, Bert and I fell onto the bean bags with a large bottle of wine between us.  I waited until Bert had downed most of the bottle before asking him to help me with Part Three of my plan.

“Berty, I need your help,” I said.  I looked at him, and he looked terrible. He looked tired, and his face seemed a little bit thinner than usual, but his eyes still had that sparkle in them.

“Alright, wh’a?” he answered, downing more wine. 

“I need you to cut the male genitalia out of all of these roses.”

Manny looked like he'd recently been in tears when he stormed into Whyte Books that afternoon.

I had just gotten back for Tom's place a few minutes before Manny came barging in. My afternoon romp with Tom had lead to a casual dinner which, naturally, lead to the bedroom which lead to me staying the night which lead to some early morning shagging which lead to me being very late for work. I still hadn't told Elle about my new, very modern way of life. I didn't know if I would ever tell her, either. Honestly, it was really none of her business.

But I always did enjoy making my sister insanely jealous.

Manny crossed his arms over his chest, stood in the corner of the shop and pouted without a word.

Elle raised an eyebrow at him, pouring herself a glass of wine at her desk, not likely her first of the day. "Oy. Planet of the Apes extra! May we help you?"

I pretended to shelve some books nearby, sliding them in randomly. (King Lear is considered Military History, right?) "Manny, what's wrong? You look..." Like an especially hairy Klingon-Hobbit cross-breed. "...upset."

"I'm quitting Black Books!" he announced. "I can't stay there anymore! I refuse! I won't put up with such treatment any longer! I won't!"

Elle just blinked at him. "...Okay..." She put the cork back in the wine and

"You've actually quit then?" I asked. "I mean, you've said several times that you were going to quit but never did."

Manny shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned. "Well, not yet. But I'm going to!"

Elle snickered. "Yeah. Right."

"I will!" he shouted, startling the tiny old lady customer nearby. "I'll do it, I swear!"

"Oy, shut y'gob!" snapped the tiny old lady customer.

Manny's smiled weakly. "Sorry, ma'am." He sidled over to where I was, taking strange tiny quick steps. "Can I talk to you somewhere in private?" he asked in a whisper. "It's really important."

He followed me into the kitchen we sat down.

Manny didn't seem to know how to start. So, I did.

"So," I said. I cleared my throat. "What did you want to discuss-"

"Oh," he said. "Right. Well, I don't have many things here stopping me from leaving Black Books... 'cept you."

I blinked at him. "Wot?"

Manny shrugged. "Well, I mean, we do have a connection, you and I. You know, chemistry. For Christ sake, we slept together over the holiday! I just..." I let out a long sigh. "If there was a reason for me to stay 'round here, I gladly would."

He's mad. Obviously, he hit his head and now there is something wrong with his brain. I mean, technically I did sleep with him over the holiday but if I had feelings for every bloke I shagged, we would have some issues.

"What I'm trying to say is..." Manny finally looked me directly in the face. "Would you like to go on a date with me? A proper date, I mean. Dinner? Movie?"

I didn't say anything.

"Maybe a walk in Covent Garden?"

I still didn't say anything.

"...Trip to the zoo?"

"Look, Manny-"

"Oh, no."

"Manny, you're a great guy," I said. "But I just don't fancy you that way. I'm sorry if lead you on. I never meant to."

He looked genuinely confused. "But... but we slept together on New Year's Eve!"

"We were drunk!" I exclaimed. "I would have never shagged you if I had been sober!"

That did not come out as eloquently as I'd hoped.

Manny's face tightened. Oh, God. Please don't cry... here.

"Right. Well... Didn't expect that." He slid his chair out and headed out, stopping at the doorway. "Bye Elise. Have a nice life." And then he left.

And I felt awful.

As pay back for having to come and get me after spending the night with Jim- er, Tim, Elle made me work the next day. This job really is God-awful dull. I actually caught myself reading a dictionary to pass the very slow-moving time.

I wander if I could just give myself a severe paper cut across the throat and DIE.

I was spying on Black Books through the window when the little bell above the door jingle, letting us all know that a customer was coming in. Nobody had been in all day so it gave me quite a start.

It was Tom.

And he didn't even notice me.

So, I had to make him notice me.

I grabbed a book off a random shelf, opened it and "accidently" bumped into Tom.

"Oh, gosh," I exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!" I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes discreetly. "Tom!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Elise. What the bloody hell are you doing in a book store?"

I glared at him. "I can read, you know!"

Tom glanced at the cover of the book I had in my hand. It was, unfortunately, The Black Man's Guide to Understanding the Black Woman. Just my luck. It couldn't have been something like The Da Vinci Code or-or-or... 1001 Ways To Tell If Your Lover Is A Complete Fuck-Up Named Tom. Oh, yes. That would have been a really good one.

"Interesting choice," he said with a laugh. "So. How long have you been a black man, anyway? Not long."

I tossed the book onto a nearby shelf and crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, you would know!!"

It was about 0.5 seconds later that I realized that that wasn't actually a come-back. Bugger.

I glanced at Elle for a little assistance. Maybe she would toss the wanker out on his ass. But no. My dear sister was asleep, her head on her desk, an empty bottle of wine sitting on some old books. Great.

Tom just smirked. (Prat.) "I think we should go to lunch."

"It's half ten," I said.

Tom looked at Elle. "Think your boss would mind if you took off a little early?"

"She's not my boss!" I huffed. "She doesn't tell me what I can and cannot do!" I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the shop.

We went to the nearby pub and had some lunch. We talked about everything. Mark. Trish. Us. The whole complicated mess. But, there had been an update since the whole blow-up happened.

"Mark and Trish have been sleeping together for over a year," Tom explained. "And Trish is pregnant."

I gaped at him. "Well, is it yours or is it Mark's?"

Wow, I thought. That is exactly what happened on EastEnders yesterday. 

"Well, the doctor told her she is four weeks pregnant," he said, looking like he didn't give a fig. "So, it has to be Mark's." Tom sighed and sipped his lager. "Needless to say, Mark and I are no longer chums. And Trish is now at his place."

"Do you miss her?" I asked softly.

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "I do miss you, though."   

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Honestly I should have taken the throw off my head, but I was afraid of what I would see when I did, so I was slowly suffocating myself.

I whispered a Merry Christmas to Bernard (which from under the throw probably sounded more like "Murry Crimmus"); he didn't hear me, to my slight relief.

But he was so nice and warm, so I snuggled closer to him and listened to him breathing for a few quiet moments.

Then I sneezed.

Bernard woke with a start, jolting me off the couch and into a puddle on the floor that tasted like suspiciously like wine.

"You?!  Wha'happened here?" he demanded, pulling the throw up to his neck, while I attempted to shake the wine from my hands.

"Got me."

"You must know!"

"Well I don't.  So there."

"You're just like Fran!  Something happens an'I'm not allowed to remember!" he accused me. I tried to figure out what he was raving about, when he ran his hands through his hair and asked, "Why're you here anyways?"

"You made me come here!"

"And then after my kindly holiday gesture, you seduced me in my own home!

"I don't know!" I shouted in reply, getting up.  "But I'll leave you alone to your holiday gestures. Humbug!"  As I made my way to the door, I thought of something.  "Did ever occur to you, Mister Cassanova, that you may have seduced me?"

He leapt off the couch and pointed at me, yelling, "Don't you be saying such - such rubbish...Madame Pompadour!"  I screeched at him angrily and stormed out the door, yelling, as he followed.

But once I was out on the sidewalk, I noticed that it was snowing, and had been snowing for quite some time.  Staring up at the sky, I closed my eyes and tried to drown out the sounds of the church bells and Bernard's ravings; just letting the snow brush and melt on my face.

Then the bleeding sod hit me with a snowball, trying to get my attention.

I screeched again at him and scooped some snow off his sidewalk sign.  The snow burned my hands, but nonetheless I made that little shpere of momentary power and tossed at his face.

He sputtered and spit snow for a couple seconds before grabbing more to throw at me.

Childhood memories of Christmas's in Scotland came back to me as I dodged behind a car to build up my arsenal.  We threw snowballs between cat calls and screeching at each other.  I ducked back down to make more snowballs, but when I popped back up, Bernard was gone.

"Sod!" I cursed...just before getting a handful of snow down the back of my shirt.  I whirled around and smooshed the snowball I was holding into Bernard's face.

Cursing again at each other, we began pushing, shoving and kicking each childishly.  He pushed me into the nearest snowbank, just as I was in mid-kick aimed at his shins.  My foot got caught behind his knee and brought him crashing down alongside me.

Our faces were bright red, we were breathing heavy and then...we started laughing.

Then he kissed me.

Despite myself, I kissed him back.  And then shoved snow down the front of his shirt.

But he kept on kissing me.  The homeless guy across the street wolf-whistled as the snow drifted all around us.

I grabbed more snow and threw it into Bernard's face, jumped up and ran back into his shop.  But he ran after me.  And grabbed me by the waist...and we fell onto the couch, laughing....he kissed me again...and...

Oh god.

Elise can't find out about this.

EVER.

I hate him so much that I've fallen in love with the bastard.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

What is wrong with me?

When Bernard got me to the shop, I refused to tell him where my keys were.  I doubled over laughing like a mental hyena.  Like my sister. 

He got a little bit fed up with me, but took me over to his shop, while I was still laughing my bottom off. 

I think he told me Manny went home for Christmas to visit his parents, and Fran was out getting smashed with her friend Julie.

So we were all alone.  In his shop.

I remember falling onto the couch while he went to find something out back.  I pulled my jacket off like a child, you know, pulling at the sleeves and everything else until it comes off.  I then found a display of Christmas books that Manny must have put out and pulled out Dicken's "A Christmas Carol" from the middle of the stack, causing them to topple to the floor as I sat back down on the couch.  Using my jacket as a throw, I began thumbing through the book.

It was quite embarassing, but when Bernard came back out with two glasses of wine, I was reading the book as if I was Sean Connery as James Bond.

"And a bloody fuckin' humbug, Q!"

Yep, just a little embarassing.

It got a bit better, I suppose.  Bernard got drunk and started reading bits as if he was the Queen on the telly.

We had a good laugh about it.  He disappeared again and brought out a real throw, and strangely enough, it looked as though he had tried to do something to his hair. 

He was smiling like a bedlamite when he tossed the throw over us, after he had plunked himself back down next to me...and...

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.  I WISH I could honestly remember what happened next.

There was lots of giggling...I think we spilled wine on the book...but...why am I laying on the couch next to him?

We didn't...? OH SHITE.  We did.  I know we did.

No.  No, we couldn't of.

Shit, I think we did.

I am not proud of the fact that I have had lots of experience slipping out of a stranger's flat unnoticed. Not just because I, well, enjoy an anonymous shag- because, seriously, who doesn't?- but because I spent some time during my teen years breaking into peoples' homes. I would never steal anything- because stealing is morally wrong and just plain tacky. I just liked picking the lock or breaking in through a window and then leaving. Elle always made fun of me for it... but no matter.

As I slipped out of the front door, I could hear Jim (...or was it Tim? Oh, God. I don't even remember.) and his wife (!!!!) watching TV around the corner and chatting. Oh, no. Why do men do this to me? Why?!

In the hall outside of their flat, I was almost run over by an angry teenage girl. She rushed past me and flew out the door, her mother (I assume) was screaming from the upstairs flat... She founded a lot like Elle, actually. And then I saw her with a glass of red wine in hand. Ah, well. That explains it.

I turned around to make my way down the stairs but didn't make it very far. A tall, creepy man- who happened to be wearing an open robe and nothing else- was staring at me from the stairs.

"Sir, your robe seems to be open," I said, averting my eyes.

Great. I'm making my escape from Jim's flat, only to run into some pervert rapist. Could this day get any better?

The door behind me whipped open and Jim and His Wife were gawking at me from inside.

Jim smiled shyly. "Morning Elise. Hope we didn't wake you up."

His Wife shrugged. "I think I did, actually. I was looking for you and she was there." She looked at me. "Sorry 'bout that, love."

Jim nodded. "No, I went out for a Cornetto this morning with Mike." 

I didn't know what to say. What could I say in this position?

"Uhhhh," I started. "I'm sorry, Jim-"

"It's Tim, actually."

Shit.

"Tim." I smiled. "Right." I smiled weakly at His Wife. "I'm really so sorry. I had no idea Jim, er, Tim was married. I wouldn't have shagged him if I had known. So, I'm so, so, so sorry and you'll never, ever see me again... Sorry." I started back down the stairs.

"His wife?" His Wife exclaimed. "I'm not his wife!" She lowered her voice and glanced upstairs to the drunk woman's flat. "We're not even dating. We're just pretending to be together so we could have the flat."

I blinked at her. "Oh."

"And I'm Daisy, by the way," she said.

I nodded. "Well. Um. That's a relief. Thought I'd gone and shagged a married man. Again."

Jim- er, Tim- and Daisy chuckled awkwardly.

Then the three of us noticed that Creepy Pervert Rapist was still standing there. With his robe still open.

Tim winced. "And that's Brian. He's an artist."

"Oh. Brilliant," I said. "What kind of stuff do you do?"

Brain's eyes moved to the left as he considered his answer. "Anger... Pain... Fear... Aggression." 

I blinked at him. "...Watercolors?"