Saturday, 23 May 2009

Meet NB!

I thought it was about time you were introduced to the newest member of our family. No, I didn’t have a baby. Or buy a kitten. Tut. This is so much better.

Remember Silly? This is about her. She will die of shame if I tell you this story but, meh. It’ll entertain you and me for a while, huh?

Once upon a time there was this cute guy who used the same gym as Silly and shopped where she worked, so they saw each other fairly often. Both would stammer and blush a little, and I’m sure things would have progressed naturally but it was not to be.

Colleague decided that nature was too slow so she sidled up to him and hissed out of the corner of her mouth “For God’s sake ask her out, I’m sick of listening to her go on and on about you.”

Subtlety, thy name is NOT colleague.

Still it worked and he asked her out and they arranged a date. All good, huh?

Except the morning after the date, Silly was nowhere to be found. There was a note in her mother’s kitchen to please wake her for work (they live next door to each other). There was loud music coming from her flat, her car was outside, she was in but not answering the phone or door.

Babcia, Silly’s mother, called me in a panic. “I’ve called and knocked and shouted, and had to go to work but am still trying her phone with no answer and now I’m worried. She might have fallen and hurt herself, please go and check on her!”

Himself, Silly’s brother, called me in a panic. Cute guy “might have chopped her body up and stuffed her into black bags, go check on her!” (Note to self: ban Himself from any and all future episodes of CSI).

Me: She’ll have got drunk and is now sleeping off a hangover, leave her alone!

Them: She ASKED to be woken. PLEASE check on her. Otherwise WE will.

Me: (Mentally running rapidly through more realistic scenarios and deciding I was the least of the bad options*). Fine, I’ll go. Sigh.

So I go and knock on her door. No answer. I get a key from Babcia’s flat down the hall, and unlock Silly’s door, shouting her name from the doorstep. No answer. I enter and turn the music down. Shout again. No answer. I knock loudly on her bedroom door. No answer. Oh for goodness sake. Don’t make me do this, I really don’t want to.

I open the bedroom door. Waves of alcohol fumes waft past me, tearing my eyes and choking me. There is a lump, snoring on the bed. A filthy foot has flopped out from under the duvet. I tap the foot with my foot (ok fine, I kicked it. Gently. -Ish). A groan and then a tousled head emerges from the duvet.

Not SILLY’S tousled head. Cute gym guy blinks at me in genuine confusion. Ah. The devil in me takes over. I perch on the bed.

“Hello!” I chirp. “I’m a complete stranger arrived to transport you to your personal hell. It’s nice to meet you!” Then I bounce on the bed a little, just enough to watch his face turn green.

Another tousled head emerges – Silly’s this time – and the waves of alcohol fumes lift slightly for me to see various... uh… “accoutrements” scattered around the room. Various “novelties” if you will. Silly glances at her phone. “FIFTY ONE missed calls?!”

Laughing like a hyena, I retreat and lock myself out, making a note to one day blog about Silly and her Naked Boyfriend.

(*Considering the actual scenario, Silly is very very grateful that I went to wake her and not Himself or their Mother. So is Naked Boyfriend. Bwah-ha-ha!)

Naked Boyfriend bought breakfast for everyone at work as an apology, and made rueful jokes so…  we are keeping him. He’s cool. But he is now, and will forever be, Naked Boyfriend!

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