Last night’s drinks considering, I am impressed with how on form I am today. If struggling to string sentences together is impressive.
Damn the Irish!! Damn them!! (My annual 18th March chant).
And damn those celebrating everyone’s who are always so impressed I am a babe of the day of St Pats that they keep the tequilas and jagermeisters rolling. And the guinnesses. Those dear sweet frothy Guinnesses. Mmmmm.
Last night involved pizza eaten over handcuffs, a closet-straight struggling to redo my bra in front of all pub patrons – I still reckon he’s gayer than the curves on Chapman’s Peak though, cute Belgians, photos I am not ready to check out, men named after perfume, a t-shirt sold off for a birthday cheek kiss, much crazy dancing in a pub where there is no space to dance, and many flags now in my room with perverted sayings written across them.
Now I am going back to doing my giant five-in-one sudoku rather than facing work emails and Irish-inspired weather.
I would like to thank Eskom for sending out distress calls yesterday that there’d be loadshedding here this morning – which allowed me to sleep in, in claim that I would be “working from home”. And finally arriving to a brightly-lit coffee-brimming office.
Another birthday survived in the same style it has always been timidly leopard-crawled through. Ha! Hic. Zzzzzzz.