Memories of my leaving party on Thursday:
Mistake One - thinking I could get away with no bra.
Two: Mojitos and champagne.
Three: A four floor nightclub in Bristol
Four: Tequila (although in my defence, this came about whilst trying to cope with Mistake Three).
Why stop at four? I could go on but I think you get the gist.
All of the above resulted in a broken shoe and time spent lost in dry ice and separated from friends. Yes, I know, we've all been there. But have you shuffled your way past hundreds of 16 year olds, trying to slip away unnoticed, chest sagging like an air mattress on the last day of a freezing camping holiday in Cornwall, to have 'Oi! Milf!' shouted at you across the emptying corridor by a pubescent teenager whose skinny backside barely holds up his jeans, probably rides a BMX and who, if held too close to a naked flame, would ignite from the hair down?
Probably not recently, I would have thought.
But, here's the rub: I was caught between feeling slightly grateful that someone would think I was attractive enough to call 'milf' and, like an extra from Logan's Run, horrified that I'd been discovered.
Perhaps it's time to accept fate and report to the Sleepshop. I'll contemplate that thought whilst I submit this post and log back on to Koodos to find replacement shoes. After all, I'll need to look good whilst I'm Running, won't I?