Tuesday, 2 August 2011

changing room conversations

I walked into the changing room yesterday looking like shit.  Honestly, sunburnt shoulders, washed out face, with bloodshot eyes, and seeing as I was sitting next to a load of dancers who were almost ready - a trio of bronzed and buffed up beauties, it made matters worse.
"Sweetie, you look like shit." opinioned Stripper Mum usefully.
"Yeah, you ill or something? Don't give me your fucking cold."  This was my friend from Essex, who likes to make her voice known through the use of expletives which pepper every other sentence.
It's been really hot and sunny in London this week, hitting the 20s with an easy stride - the front page of the Evening Standard screamed that we would be 30 degrees this wednesday! Imagine, 30 degrees in England!   this is, obviously, front page news (obviously a slow news monday).  Unfortunately, as you can probably tell since I haven't posted all week, I spent the weekend enjoying myself.  I didn't mean to get paraletic for 3 days straight, but thats what happens when you spend all day drinking in the park.
I was berating myself for being such a lazybones, and missing all the fun and excitement of a payday weekend, when Stripper Mum gave me a funny rendition of how the weekend had been for her;
"I had a VIP with the King of Haliotosis.  His breath was so bad that I wished I could squirt toothpaste from my tits - he kept on asking me to move closer and closer...'Come here, oohh yeah, a little closer baby"
She then started licking her lips like a village idiot (her impression of a fat slobbery bad breath guy, not because she is mental.)
"Ohhh closer, let me breath on you, big doggy tongue on your nice clean skin"
As I giggled manically, she finished up by collapsing in her chair, wailing like the wicked witch of the East.
"Help me! My silicone's melting...I'm melting...melting"

I may have missed the weekend, I may be hungover, but at least someone had a more gruesome experience than me....

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