On Friday, by the time I got home from work everyone was ready to go. It was supposed to be Pete’s birthday-weekend. Dinner, then dancing and maybe a show. Okay, just kidding about the show, but dinner first.
We went to this great Thai restaurant. The food was amazing, all the veggies in attendance could eat meat-free, and it wasn’t too expensive. I shall definitely come here again. But even though it was a great meal, this is where the trouble begins. Wine. We had wine with dinner. Lots of it.
Then we went to the pub and started on the shots. And from there we ended up at a club and had more shots. Then we stumbled home at about 4am and drank some more.
I vaguely remember having a good time. I remember chatting to some guy I’d met previously – he might have been the birthday boy at that dinner we went to in Broughty Ferry. Or, he might have been… Oh, I don’t know who he was. He wasn’t at Pete’s birthday-dinner, and only arrived when we got to the pub, so by that time I was already half gone. But he kept talking about my ‘boyfriend’, and at one point even said, ‘It’s unusual holiday romances work out. You two are a lovely success story.’ I was a bit bleary-eyed, and I got a bit confused and blurted, ‘Yes, but he’s not gotten a divorce yet. So I don’t know where that leaves us.’ To which the guy says, ‘Pete’s married?’
This shook me, momentarily, out of my drunken stupor enough to realise my faux pas. So I answered, ‘What? Pete’s not married? What are you talking about?’ and I wandered over to the bar. Yeah, I think I covered that one well.
Finally, after finishing off a post-going-out bottle of wine in the flat, everyone went home. I crawled into bed, and Pete lay down beside me. I fell asleep for a moment, and woke up to Fife kissing me. He was running his hand up my leg, kissing my neck. I kissed him back and pushed my hand down his front. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw my familiar room.
Shit! This wasn’t Fife.
I sprung out of bed, with Pete asking what was wrong. I had to think of something quickly, ‘I’m sick. I think I’m going to be sick…’ And I ran to the bathroom. The funny thing was that I got to the bathroom and was actually sick. Very sick.
I came back to bed and lied down. Pete lay next to me stroking my hair, and I remembered why I first fell for him. He is actually a good guy. A bit gormless, and very clueless. But a good guy. It’s a shame that things haven’t worked out for us, but I’m sure he’ll find someone better suited to his ridiculous ways. Maybe PoshPhD will take him for me.