This was said by The Gay the other day as we chatted about his new life in London. If someone moves to anywhere in the UK apart from London it's not seen as a big deal. As far as I can guess, the perception of an exciting move is directly related to the concentration of high level drug dealers. I use the term 'high level' as there are many towns with a high concentration of chavs who pass around drugs as quickly as they do STI's. They're always ready to make good use of the benefit scheme and can usually be found to make a deal in the local job centre. Just sniff out that reek of Lynx spray and fosters vomit and you can score some weed sliced with oregano pretty easily. London may have many amazing traits but it's also the only place I've been offered cocaine by a guy in a suit in exchange for sex, in a public toilet. What makes it sad it its the only time I've been propositioned by a guy in a suit. Considering this, my move to Somerset is like a trip to Chessington compared to The Gays exploration of Atlantis. I shouldn't complain too much. Whilst there are no theatres, rows of restaurants or suits offering me drugs, I do have a large garden and a pub next door.
As The Gay prepares to house share I start to consider both what he says and my own living conditions. This bring me to the real reason single girls date: We're hungry!
When you live on your own you have to do everything on your own including eat. Ever noticed how food comes in packs of 2 or 4? Bastard food companies. Suddenly your weekly shop becomes a sick reminder of your lack of social accomplishment. That's why the alcohol and ice cream aisle's are at the end. By the time you've made your way through the food induced hallucinations of your dead body being consumed by 500 cats, you need to experiment with vodka floats. Even if we try to battle through this we end up eating the same thing several times a week. Unpacking the shopping takes twice as long as you attempt to separate out the multi-packs into individual freezer bags. You don't have to separate vodka or ice cream, you just take what you want and put it back for when you next have to endure a couple night disguised as a party.
It's a sick twisted conspiracy. We are all ready to blame the food industry for childhood obesity, when we should be blaming them for the existence of those children as chubby singletons mate in a desperate attempt to feel intimacy. This is because there is only 1 food that caters to single people and that's ready meals. These are the supermarkets attempts to further manipulate their match-making evil scheme making it easy to spy the single folk. We're the ones in the ready meal aisle with that sneaky little fat fold that likes to pop over our jeans and has our belly buttons savouring fresh air every time we reach for something. There are only so many flavours of ready meal. Actually there are only 2; painted wall and painted wall with chilli haphazardly thrown at it. You can eat an ASDA's chicken korma for one and then lick your bedroom wall and feel like you're still eating. Eventually you need a different meal and the best place to get that is outside. So we go on dates. I admit that men have often taken a large part of the bill and what do they get from it? Orgasms. Not theirs or mine but my taste buds. This is why men pay. To give my taste buds a flavour-gasm after months of licking walls. Should I feel ashamed? No. Most men have paid to see a woman have an orgasm and at least my way doesn't require your credit card details. My tongue may be a hopeless prostitute but men enable this behaviour by always paying (even when I do offer to go halves).
Vodka Float:
2 parts vodka
3 parts lemonade
1 scoop of vanilla ice cream
Keep adding vodka until the pain goes away
No comments:
Post a Comment