The morning after

I will admit that my life is not amazingly exciting, and half the events in it should be written down and shared and the other half, well, who needs to know the entire list of my food shop.

Anyway, with a grand total of a few weeks to go till I leave Chester for good the day-to-day events just keep getting better.

This is probably one of these things that should remain in my head, or written down and forgotten about…but let’s be honest, where is the fun in that?

Last night my housemates and I embraced our usual SU Friday, complete with cider and black (my increasing levels of testosterone never seize to amaze me), music that would make my Nan cry and text messaging that will undoubtedly leave to a back ache the following morning.

Being single in university is a necessity, relationships are for the faint hearted and easily pleased. Which is why nights out which end in midnight rendezvous are disasters waiting to happen.

After weeks of happily scouting the male talent of Cheshire, constantly shaving my legs and loving being ‘me’ again, I was a little surprised when the last guy I dated popped up in my inbox. (No pun intended.)

Four hours later I woke up in his bed trying to figure out A. why I was there and B. where my clothes were and C. how I was going to explain this to my housemates. Either way stepping inside his front door was probably a rookie mistake.

All it took was one sentence to alter the relatively good opinion I had of him. After waking me up and doing his manly thing he suggested I leave before it got too busy outside. Not only was it raining but he let slip he was too drunk to drive me home, so it would be ‘walk of shame’ time.
Five minutes previous I was sleeping and now I had to try to convince the residents of Chester that looking like a tramp at half 8 in the morning is a fashion statement.

Also after seeing Sex and the City 2 yesterday this experience was a little too much Carrie Bradshaw for my liking and it seemed crazy that after the best break-up in the world it all went ‘poof’ in a matter of verbal diarrhoea.

This may be more evidence that men are well...men and for every good chicken there really is a bad egg. But then again, if you can’t have your eggs sunny side up in the morning when can you?

It is common knowledge that first impressions of a person leave a lasting mark, but last impressions leave a crater in your mind.
So it’s back to bed with a nice cup of tea and start writing a non-man blog. The big wide world awaits and with KG’s on my feet and a smile on my face what is the worst that can happen?