a great drunk indeed!

The bright sunlight slowly penetrates my eyelids.  As I gingerly open them, they’re sticky and fuzzy.  I look over to the clock, it’s 7.25am.  I’ve been asleep for just over four hours.  As I turn over to shield my face from the dazzling rays, I spy the carnal paraphernalia that goes with a drunken night’s session and smile.  My man can feel my movements and mirrors my actions.  We look at each other through hazy eyes and I see a huge, bloody graze on his forehead approximately two inches in diameter.  I rise up on my elbow and say “Oh my God baby, what’s happened to your head?” he replies “It’s a carpet burn!”  I have no immediate recollection of the previous night’s events so between us we start to piece together the mystery of the night before...which apparently went like this...

Not wanting to sit in our local pub with its sweaty inhabitants while the footy was shown I insisted my husband go on ahead of me and I would follow.  When I arrived three hours later, he was certainly looking very cheerful.  He informs me he is unsure whether he’s had five or six pints.  To catch up I was straight on the double vodka’s.  Four hours later and after many conversations with several random punters we were staggering our way home under the cover of my leopard print umbrella against torrential rain. 

Once home, I was recreating Jamie Oliver moves in record time, frying up sausages to ease the munchies whilst my fella was sorting out the tunes or so I thought.  It turns out that he was in fact stood on the living room chest behind the door waiting to jump out and scare me. As I came through from the kitchen holding our rustic sausage sarnies he leap at me and cries “Booooo!!” on top note.  His efforts were wasted as I was niether scared nor impressed, he too was most disappointed.  Obviously there was no way he was letting this go, within seconds he was back on the table where he took flight like a fruit bat.  He’d thrown himself off the table and onto my back wrapping his arms and legs around me.  We both fell to the ground in a fit of laughter with him still attached; we looked like a pair of mating moths.  As I rolled over he slid off at high speed scraping and burning the right-side of his forehead on the carpet.

Totally undeterred he was up on his feet and cranking up the volume on the stereo.  What followed could only be described as a lap dance!  Off came the Fred Perry shirt which was waved in circular motions above his head and then tossed over my face.  Next were the jeans. Sliding them down just over his furry peach, he proceeded to spank his bottom and waggle it in my face.  Now donned in just his Christmas pudding boxers and socks he was thrusting his groin on to the side of my head whilst I sat obliviously eating my sausages.   What girl can resist a Christmas pud being thrust in her face – certainly not me!  Off to Bedfordshire to do what a voluptuous lady like myself does best…feast on her delicious man.

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x