Oh Christ I've eaten a fucking tart in waterstones. I have been a prize twit in town today
I'm continuing with the weekly 'improve my wardrobe' mission today. The idea was to get a nice manicure done, pick up a jacket I've had altered from the tailor and buy the bbc sky at night magazine for us all to get eclipse specs.
What actually happened was I spent over an hour and £40 getting a really shite gel extension manicure, which looked like frigging pig trotters and I didn't have the balls to say anything so I left the shop, wandered about in shock, then nearly cried in Fenwicks at the nailinc place. They were pretty shocked at the finish, but really sweetly squeezed me in to file down the gels nails a bit - they don't soak off - and re-shaped and polished them, which cost another £18. God I felt stupid. The cake incident happened because I went to look at books in waterstones and they've got a cafe. The plan was to have a cuppa and regroup before the second manicure. It was proper old style emotional eating.
Whilst I was in the queue for the cuppa, I kept thinking about just sitting there like a plum. And on Saturday night I had another thing happen where I just allowed something to happen. We were out at a private party upstairs in a club, but the bar was downstairs. Whilst dp was at the front of the bar getting drinks, I was waiting at the back of the crowd, and a young ish man came past and asked for a hug. For some unknown reason I just stood there frozen to the spot while he basically... Is it called motorboarding? .... Stuck his face into my cleavage, and nuzzled about. Fortunately another friend was nearby and pulled the guy off, but I just let it happen
Dp said very sweetly this afternoon, that I'm a bit off my game lately, as normal I would be very forthright with both parties.
Pity the next fool who fucks with my shit. They gonna get the last two fools bitch slapping.