17 September 2006

Nice doggie

I have never been a woman to get chatted up by strangers (of any gender) in bars. This is something of a tragedy as since a young age I have been accumulating a wealth of scathing put downs and acidic comebacks for just such occasions. So imagine my joy when earlier, whilst enjoying a quiet afternoon pint of Guinness and spending a meaningful hour with a pile of vellum and my favourite quill, an opportunity to use Put-down #12,387 presented himself.

He sidled up to me like an slimy gecko and draped himself, in what I can only imagined was supposed to be a seductive manner, across the chair.
‘You know, I could fulfil your every sexual fantasy,’ he said, issuing forth drunken spittle rich with chardonnay fumes and kettle chip crumbs.
‘How odd,’ I said. ‘You look absolutely nothing like a Great Dane to me.’

The fruitless struggle for a response killed off 134 of his remaining 137 brain cells and, with only his gross motor skills still fully operational, he slithered back over to the bar; a broken man.


Walthamstow Branch Office said...

You like Danish guys?

Yeah alright.

(Have you done a Google search on Walthamstow French Market lately...)

Froosh Bamboo said...

Hallo og velkommen.

One is just showing off now.