Mortification

I wouldn't say embarrassing things happen to me on a regular basis but when they do, they're often curl up in a ball and die kind of embarrassing. A close friend of mine made me a bet that I couldn't be celibate for a month. Out of sheer stubbornness I assured him that I could manage it with ease. All I win, however, is a measly pint of £2 lager; which, after two weeks of torment, seems like a paltry prize. I do think that it may be good for my mental health in the long run. Clear my head a bit from hospital drama and penis related drama. 

As I said, it's been around 2 weeks so far and I feel like I may crumble. Pathetic, I know but I love a bit of penis drama!

Anyway, remember massive blonde hunk who booty-called me a month or two ago? He pops up on my Facebook this evening asking if he can come round. I explain my predicament and tell him that as much as I would love to utilise his services I am, in fact, determined to win this bet. Eventually he ceases, after much sexual blackmail involving 'bending me over'' and the like. I precede to text my friend, with whom I have said bet, and I quote "I just turned down a booty call from an incredible hot guy. I'm turning a corner. You'll owe me a pint very soon.' SEND. Slowly it dawns on my that my text has turned blue, as it does with iPhone messaging. My friend does not have an iPhone. Indeed I had not text my friend. I had text a lovely bloke, of the same name, who I met a few weeks ago. Cue absolute mortification. This lovely bloke, for some unknown reason, seemed to actually think I was nice and 'SWEET' which was a refreshing change. Some one please kill me now. Needless to say I don't think he thinks of me so highly any more. 

I'm still in the running for a pint though!