If only it stopped at poor oral hygiene.
Me and bf went to a party last weekend and what a great night! In the fading light I sat round a garden table with women all ages. The tinkle of our laughter and our wine glasses snaked through the gazebos and the bubble machine, lending a magical quality to the May evening. We talked at length on the topics that have bound women together for generations: breast-feeding and how difficult step-aerobics classes are. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, bf was (presumably) doing the bloke equivalent, thrashing out the age-old question of whether the A303 was better than M4/M5 to Devon.
Around midnight, people drifted away, some carrying their sleeping children, some the empty containers in which they had brought offerings to the buffet. Before too long, I saw that it was time to go and found bf, now stupidly drunk.
"Come on D, we gotta go"
From here the night gets less picturesque, but (I HAD thought) kind of hilariously farcical in a charming and quirky way.
Far too nice to outstay my welcome (though it turns out I already had) I did what I always do when blootered and huffed off alone into the night. As I turned into the dark lane I heard a male voice urging D to go after me. "Awwwsfckit" he replied.
Awkward cuss that I am, I walked fast so he couldn't catch me if he tried, not on his drunk leggies. I went to buy a packet of fags from the garage and called Mystery Dude, demanding in a posh fashion that he drive 80 miles and rescue me from my wicked bf. To my horror, he refused and then the battery went dead on my phone. I sat down on the pavement without a plan. I looked over to the lane from where I had just emerged and saw D, swaying, looking up and down the road, obviously unable to understand the first thing about the situation. "I'll teach him" I thought, "I'll walk the four miles home and he will worry I am dead and HAHAHA". So I did. And it was a long long walk. When I made it back to the mobile home (that's trailer to my US friends), imagine how peeved I was to find that there was no-one home but the dogs. Furious, I ate three Scotch eggs and was just thinking about the fourth when D arrives.
"Babes!" he says delighted, "Let's go to bed!"
"You go, I'll come when you pass out" I said in a voice laced with disgust.
"You don't love me any more, do you? Do you? Do you?"
"I'm not listening to this sh*te" I said, possibly with great dignity, and taking my clever border collie in one hand and my weekend luggage in the other I huffed out the door and began the 4 mile walk back to my car.
What was I thinking of? Not sure, but if the first 4 mile walk was long, the second, with dog and big bag was epic. The Wokingham Road was littered with lost souls trying to recoup something from their Saturday Night. Guys saying "You're not getting away with it this time" into their mobile phones. Guys sitting on the pavement doing nothing. Pairs of teenage girls shouting "Good evening" at me in a sarcastic way. Eventually I arrived back at my car and realised I had failed to develop the next part of my plan. I sat in my car and convinced myself that I had sobered up enough to drive back to the mobile. By now it was 4am.
That drive back was hell, because I knew I shouldn't have done it. Though I've driven that way a hundred times, I forgot what all the speed limits were and visualised the arrest, the court case and the prison sentence. As I approached the roundabout I tried desperately to remember the relevant page from The Highway Code. But I made it.
D was asleep diagonally across the bed with his shoes and jacket still on. His little dog was asleep at his feet and when I climbed into a strip down the edge of the bed, little dog moved over and snuffled into my hair. Perhaps it wasn't how it should be, but it was just a Saturday night, just an ordinary tale of beer and foolishness.
The next morning we got up late and worked out what had happened.
So that was cool, till I met Lou, the hostess a few days later. She started by saying thank goodness I was alive and not raped and dead. Then she told me her fiance was offended because I had accused him of stealing my handbag. I had no recollection of this at all but I know I was only being funny.
The guy has no sense of humour, huh? She suggested I sent him an email to apologise, I just gaped at her, wounded. Then it got worse. She said D had been an a-hole, lying on their chenille sofa, smoking in a non-smoking house and saying that he was kipping there. When asked wasn't he worried I was being raped, he replied "Nah". They couldn't shift him till a policeman friend got all firm with him.
Then it got much much worse. Lou said she wasn't being funny, but is D good enough for me? A gypsy in a caravan who doesn't know how to conduct himself, when I am worth so much more? I had to go outside then, and she followed me. I tried to get a grip and she looked at me all concerned and asked if I had been smoking cannabis because my eyes were all bloodshot. No, Lou, that's not it, I hate cannabis, what is happening here is that I am crying.
I suppose she couldn't know, but she missed a few facts. Like, if there were Scotch eggs in the fridge, it was because D had gone to Sainsburys and put them there just for me. Like, if he arrived back late at the mobile, it was because he had gone into town in a misguided attempt to look for me. Like if he arrived late at the party it was because he was walking the dogs, buying a card and champagne and making kebabs for people to eat, even though the people at the party were my friends, not his. Like, if he didn't chase after me, it was because he knew that he has to let me do what I have to do.
So me and my bf are drunken a-holes. But you know what? So was Dylan Thomas.