The Hoe Hoops Made Me Do It (Mum, I'm Sorry)
It was a cold Friday night. I'd spent some time debating over which earrings to wear. Which will make me look hottest to my boss's fit son? Do the hoops go with my dress? Are the little silver wire lovehearts not enough? Of course I chose the hoops. Go big or go home, right? Whatever gets you noticed, babe. On reflection, the hoe hoops were clearly an omen - a sign of what was to come that night.
I'd planned on picking up my missed Asos parcel after work, and of course I had time to try everything on before I needed to catch the bus back into town. After all, the slinky, black peplum top I wanted to wear tonight was in there and who could resist trying on all the mega reduced polka dot summer dresses at the same time? Clearly not I. The first blunder. Good start, Charleigh. Before I knew it it was 6:30 - 15 minutes after the bus I'd meant to catch had left and the top I wanted to wear didn't look right so I still had to choose an outfit and do my makeup. By some sort of miracle I managed to get an Uber and arrived at the restaurant fashionably late. The trip was as expected. By which I mean you screenshot the driver's details and send them to your friend in case of kidnap, spend a few minutes staring at the back of the driver's head to work out if they might be fit or not and then try to navigate the usual small talk or scroll through your phone to look busy. We all do it. You know the drill.
If only the same could be said for the return trip.
Having drank the restaurant out of Amaretto (they kindly ran to the shop and got another bottle especially for me), it was time to move on to the pub. And then another pub... And then a bar... And then the club... And then some girl's house(??) Until I found myself once again waiting for an Uber.
By this point, my phone's about to die, the driver's on the way and I'm desperately trying to focus my eyes so that I can memorise at least some of the number plate from the app to work out which car is for me. Although there's not actually any other cars around, Charleigh so I really don't know why you bothered. Although I do recognise that picture actually... I've had this one before... OMG IT'S JACK!? Now for the sake of Jack's professionalism and humiliation I shan't be using his real name. Yes it was that bad. Jack, I can only apologise.
From this point onwards I shall be using '?!?!' to communicate sober Charleigh's reaction to drunk Charleigh's actions. Brace yourself, Mum.
So I get in the car and it IS him! Hurrah. (Why wouldn't it be? You literally saw the app??) He'd driven me home once before after a much more tame night out with the other pastry girls from work. I was a bit tipsy then but I'm pretty sure I managed to hold up a fairly decent conversation with him. He asked what I did and why I left uni and all the usual stuff that seems okay to tell strangers. I thought he was pretty good looking and he'd genuinely made me day with his intelligent conversation and I'm fairly sure I told him so as I left the car that night. Totally fine, a good trip by all accounts. This trip, I imagine was not quite so good for him.
After getting in the car I seem to remember sort of shouting at him about how impressed I was that he'd remembered my name (It's on his fucking phone, Charleigh), but I'd remembered his too and that was something of an achievement for me. Following that I have no idea how we got to my next memory of the trip. Perhaps he'd asked what had happened since we last met a couple of months ago. 'Well... not a lot really... I had my birthday!'
'Oh really? Did you do anything nice?'
'Yeah. Well no. It was good but my boyfriend fucked it up the arse.'
He laughs and probably asked what the fuck that meant. Who wouldn't?
'Yeah he fucked it RIGHT up the arse. Well up in there.'
Now I have no clue how long this went on for but I think at the time I could see it was making him laugh which made me laugh and then I wanted to keep making him laugh (because that's an oh so attractive quality eh) so I'd just say it over and over again. Bless you, Jack for your patience. I had genuinely intended on telling him the whole story of my birthday party (another time, folks) and having found someone new to tell it to I was clearly so excited that I'd scooted right to the front of my seat to get closer to him and be able to poke my head through the middle of the front seats. This must have worried him immensely but of course I didn't really care how I looked at that stage. Again, so sorry. I have no idea how much of the story, if any, I managed to tell him after that. What I do remember though, is touching his shoulders. Oh Charleigh. WHY?! A good question but sadly not one I can answer. At some point on the way I asked him why he was driving like that? Like what? You keep accelerating and then slowing down again? Now on reflection, the fact that I was practically trying to massage him (in reality I was probably just sort of poking him and smushing my hand into his back) was probably fairly offputting. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to drive slower so that we could spend just a little longer in each other's company. Ha.
We were home and the 15 minute journey had flown by all too quickly for my liking. So I didn't get out of the car. Why didn't I get out of the car?! I'd like to think that we were caught up in conversation rather than that I just point blank refused to leave. Have a little class, girl. Now I have since checked the email that tells you how much your trip cost and therefore know that I arrived home at 4:01am. So why the fucking fuck did I not get in the house until nearly 5am?!?! Was I holding him captive all that time?! Did he try to make me leave or was he happy to stay there?! The poor boy has finished a 12 hour shift and then sat around for an extra hour talking to me about god knows what.
Oh wait actually I do know what... He'd spent an entire hour trying to fight me off. Not physically. Well I hope not physically other than the already regrettable shoulder touching. And come to think of it I do remember touching his face at one point(?!?!). Such soft stubble by the way, very nice. Oh wait and there was quite a long time where I thought it was appropriate to have my face smushed into his shoulder(?!?!) And then there was some hand holding at one point (?!?!). Such lovely warm hands. And now that we've mentioned the hand holding I also remember him asking me how much I'd had to drink (whilst holding my hand). I couldn't get past the first 4 drinks so for the purpose of context, my full drinks list was as follows.
4 double Amaretto and diet cokes
1/2 bottle of white wine
3 more double Amarettos
3 shots of Sambuca
1 shot of Tequila
Possibly a Jaeger bomb??
The only other thing I really remember from an hour of sitting in the car with him was trying to bed him. Yes you heard. I doubt I was all that delicate about it either. I distinctly remember pinky promising not to report him if he came in with me (Jesus Christ, Char). Several times in fact. And then there was another pinky promise. What was it again? Ah that's it. I pinky promise that if you come in, we'll only have a cheeky spoon. (WHAT AM I DOING?!) Yes don't worry, Jack, if you come into my flat with me, a stranger, we'll only have a 'cheeky spoon'. I won't try to mount you or anything. ?!?!?! In that state I doubt I could have mounted anything. I would have given it a bloody good try though. I'm nothing if not determined. Clearly.
I don't know how he finally got me to leave but I successfully made it into bed without breaking anything (except my dignity) and even managed to lock the door behind me. But what's this? Oh the poor, sweet boy has messaged me (why did I use his phone to add me on Facebook??) to remind me to drink lots of water. What a cutie. That's what I need in my life. And I did drink lots of water... Whilst adding him on every social media platform known to man?!?! So smooth. Good job, Char. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I've practically molested a stranger or the fact that I would then go to work the next day, still drunk and message him again telling him how good his stand-up act is and that if it ever goes 'tits up' with the girl he's just started seeing he knows where to find me?!?! When did I become so vulgar? If he hadn't already worked it out, he definitely knows you've stalked him now. I'm still cringing 4 days on.
And here endeth story time.
I'd like to say it won't happen again, but as I've said before, this is an honest space and it absolutely will. If not with an Uber driver then with any good looking, eligible, young man. Let's just hope that all the future men I try it on with are as kind and will pie me as gently and as flatteringly as Jack did. I will forever give you 5 star ratings and start a fan club for your stand-up, which, by the way, you absolutely may use me in if you thought the whole thing was half as funny as I did. I promise I'll leave the hoe hoops at home next time.
I'd planned on picking up my missed Asos parcel after work, and of course I had time to try everything on before I needed to catch the bus back into town. After all, the slinky, black peplum top I wanted to wear tonight was in there and who could resist trying on all the mega reduced polka dot summer dresses at the same time? Clearly not I. The first blunder. Good start, Charleigh. Before I knew it it was 6:30 - 15 minutes after the bus I'd meant to catch had left and the top I wanted to wear didn't look right so I still had to choose an outfit and do my makeup. By some sort of miracle I managed to get an Uber and arrived at the restaurant fashionably late. The trip was as expected. By which I mean you screenshot the driver's details and send them to your friend in case of kidnap, spend a few minutes staring at the back of the driver's head to work out if they might be fit or not and then try to navigate the usual small talk or scroll through your phone to look busy. We all do it. You know the drill.
If only the same could be said for the return trip.
Having drank the restaurant out of Amaretto (they kindly ran to the shop and got another bottle especially for me), it was time to move on to the pub. And then another pub... And then a bar... And then the club... And then some girl's house(??) Until I found myself once again waiting for an Uber.
By this point, my phone's about to die, the driver's on the way and I'm desperately trying to focus my eyes so that I can memorise at least some of the number plate from the app to work out which car is for me. Although there's not actually any other cars around, Charleigh so I really don't know why you bothered. Although I do recognise that picture actually... I've had this one before... OMG IT'S JACK!? Now for the sake of Jack's professionalism and humiliation I shan't be using his real name. Yes it was that bad. Jack, I can only apologise.
From this point onwards I shall be using '?!?!' to communicate sober Charleigh's reaction to drunk Charleigh's actions. Brace yourself, Mum.
So I get in the car and it IS him! Hurrah. (Why wouldn't it be? You literally saw the app??) He'd driven me home once before after a much more tame night out with the other pastry girls from work. I was a bit tipsy then but I'm pretty sure I managed to hold up a fairly decent conversation with him. He asked what I did and why I left uni and all the usual stuff that seems okay to tell strangers. I thought he was pretty good looking and he'd genuinely made me day with his intelligent conversation and I'm fairly sure I told him so as I left the car that night. Totally fine, a good trip by all accounts. This trip, I imagine was not quite so good for him.
After getting in the car I seem to remember sort of shouting at him about how impressed I was that he'd remembered my name (It's on his fucking phone, Charleigh), but I'd remembered his too and that was something of an achievement for me. Following that I have no idea how we got to my next memory of the trip. Perhaps he'd asked what had happened since we last met a couple of months ago. 'Well... not a lot really... I had my birthday!'
'Oh really? Did you do anything nice?'
'Yeah. Well no. It was good but my boyfriend fucked it up the arse.'
He laughs and probably asked what the fuck that meant. Who wouldn't?
'Yeah he fucked it RIGHT up the arse. Well up in there.'
Now I have no clue how long this went on for but I think at the time I could see it was making him laugh which made me laugh and then I wanted to keep making him laugh (because that's an oh so attractive quality eh) so I'd just say it over and over again. Bless you, Jack for your patience. I had genuinely intended on telling him the whole story of my birthday party (another time, folks) and having found someone new to tell it to I was clearly so excited that I'd scooted right to the front of my seat to get closer to him and be able to poke my head through the middle of the front seats. This must have worried him immensely but of course I didn't really care how I looked at that stage. Again, so sorry. I have no idea how much of the story, if any, I managed to tell him after that. What I do remember though, is touching his shoulders. Oh Charleigh. WHY?! A good question but sadly not one I can answer. At some point on the way I asked him why he was driving like that? Like what? You keep accelerating and then slowing down again? Now on reflection, the fact that I was practically trying to massage him (in reality I was probably just sort of poking him and smushing my hand into his back) was probably fairly offputting. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to drive slower so that we could spend just a little longer in each other's company. Ha.
We were home and the 15 minute journey had flown by all too quickly for my liking. So I didn't get out of the car. Why didn't I get out of the car?! I'd like to think that we were caught up in conversation rather than that I just point blank refused to leave. Have a little class, girl. Now I have since checked the email that tells you how much your trip cost and therefore know that I arrived home at 4:01am. So why the fucking fuck did I not get in the house until nearly 5am?!?! Was I holding him captive all that time?! Did he try to make me leave or was he happy to stay there?! The poor boy has finished a 12 hour shift and then sat around for an extra hour talking to me about god knows what.
Oh wait actually I do know what... He'd spent an entire hour trying to fight me off. Not physically. Well I hope not physically other than the already regrettable shoulder touching. And come to think of it I do remember touching his face at one point(?!?!). Such soft stubble by the way, very nice. Oh wait and there was quite a long time where I thought it was appropriate to have my face smushed into his shoulder(?!?!) And then there was some hand holding at one point (?!?!). Such lovely warm hands. And now that we've mentioned the hand holding I also remember him asking me how much I'd had to drink (whilst holding my hand). I couldn't get past the first 4 drinks so for the purpose of context, my full drinks list was as follows.
4 double Amaretto and diet cokes
1/2 bottle of white wine
3 more double Amarettos
3 shots of Sambuca
1 shot of Tequila
Possibly a Jaeger bomb??
The only other thing I really remember from an hour of sitting in the car with him was trying to bed him. Yes you heard. I doubt I was all that delicate about it either. I distinctly remember pinky promising not to report him if he came in with me (Jesus Christ, Char). Several times in fact. And then there was another pinky promise. What was it again? Ah that's it. I pinky promise that if you come in, we'll only have a cheeky spoon. (WHAT AM I DOING?!) Yes don't worry, Jack, if you come into my flat with me, a stranger, we'll only have a 'cheeky spoon'. I won't try to mount you or anything. ?!?!?! In that state I doubt I could have mounted anything. I would have given it a bloody good try though. I'm nothing if not determined. Clearly.
I don't know how he finally got me to leave but I successfully made it into bed without breaking anything (except my dignity) and even managed to lock the door behind me. But what's this? Oh the poor, sweet boy has messaged me (why did I use his phone to add me on Facebook??) to remind me to drink lots of water. What a cutie. That's what I need in my life. And I did drink lots of water... Whilst adding him on every social media platform known to man?!?! So smooth. Good job, Char. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I've practically molested a stranger or the fact that I would then go to work the next day, still drunk and message him again telling him how good his stand-up act is and that if it ever goes 'tits up' with the girl he's just started seeing he knows where to find me?!?! When did I become so vulgar? If he hadn't already worked it out, he definitely knows you've stalked him now. I'm still cringing 4 days on.
And here endeth story time.
I'd like to say it won't happen again, but as I've said before, this is an honest space and it absolutely will. If not with an Uber driver then with any good looking, eligible, young man. Let's just hope that all the future men I try it on with are as kind and will pie me as gently and as flatteringly as Jack did. I will forever give you 5 star ratings and start a fan club for your stand-up, which, by the way, you absolutely may use me in if you thought the whole thing was half as funny as I did. I promise I'll leave the hoe hoops at home next time.
blummin hell. Fascinating stuff.
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