Livin’ The Dream
No one had to tell me the room had changed. I could follow the scent of over perfumed woman down the hall and to the right; the air was thick with perfume, hairspray and desperation. Seriously, speed dating, what the hell was my sister getting me into?
I was quite content living out my life in bachelorhood, it’s living the dream really; I can get laid whenever I (can manage to find somebody willing, which is very rare and they’re often of poor quality and questionable moral standing) want, I can spend my Saturdays puttering around the house in a tattered Pink Floyd T-shirt playing guitar like David Gilmour and singing like Roger Waters (perhaps my neighbours would be happier if I sang like I played guitar, silently). Living single means you never have to leave the lid down, you can let dishes pile up and sniff your laundry to see if it’s clean enough to wear again. Yeap, livin’ the dream, so why was I here again?
Somewhere between room 224A and 224E I got lost and found myself at a nearby pub, my sister Stella will be pissed but my pint of Stella doesn’t seem to care.
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