Christmas Eve is upon us and instead of getting ready to
go out and party, as was my intention, I am in bed bubbling in my own menses.
As you know I am not a big fan of this time of year, or
indeed any time of year that seems to force reflection onto those of us who’d
rather not fucking reflect. Perhaps you could send ‘Ray’ to see me so he
can dispense some of his panto magic?
Christmas and the inevitability of another cunting new
year seem to have whipped things up into quite a frenzy on the dating
website. You can smell the desperation heavy in the air, nostrils
virtually raped from the heinous combination of too much Lynx masking the
stench of several days worth of sweat.
I have received much mail from Mr ‘I Don’t Want To Be
Alone Over The Holidays’, but there was one message which stood out from the
rest. It simply read:
“would you be willing to sleep with me for a grand???”
Now, if he’d used a capital ‘W’ to start his sentence
then he might have been in with a chance, however, his lower-cased opening
gambit horrified me.
I will never undervalue myself again.
Christmas commences for real when the boys return to my
bosom tomorrow. Until then it’s me, the duvet and a fucking mince pie.
Frankie
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