My flatmate just woke me up.
It’s 2:22am – The beauty and symmetry of this time would be beautiful to me if I wasn’t still half asleep and sporting a premature Morning-Glory.
He has woke me up to see how far away ‘Wingrove Avenue’ is on my phone. My phone tells me it’s a 57 minute walk away. This information doesn’t appeal to him and he scrunches his face up like a Nan trying to push out a fart.
Using my Inspector Poirot like detective skills i find out the journey is for a booty call to see someone called Stacey; he doesn’t give me her surname. He knows ill search for her on Facebook and make a list of reasons why she resembles a bucket of smashed crabs. I pride myself on annoying my flatmate at least 11 times a day; it’s nice to have a hobby... I think the technical term for someone like me is ‘a cunt’
I try talking him out of the situation. I know that once he’s got her into bed, had a bit of how’s your father and squirted his man fat onto her top lip he’ll be stuck in a random booty callers house 57 minutes away from his own. Wishing he’d had a cold shower and some coco-pops instead.
This all happened an hour ago.
3 minutes ago I received a text from my flatmate saying ‘Instantly regretting this decision’ to which I reply ‘Bust your nut already?’ ..... ‘No’ he says ....’ she looks like a bucket of smashed crabs.....I’ll see you in 57 minutes’
It hurts to be rite all the time.
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