It was not my birthday. That is the first thing you need to know, because Mia will tell this story like she was doing charity. She was not. She was bored on a Thursday and she has my card details saved from the time we split a Zara haul and never settled it properly.
She called it an un-birthday. As if that made the booking less mental. As if a man in black trousers turning up at a Parsons Green two-bed on a school night is a normal gift you wrap in tissue paper.
Sophie found out when the buzzer went. I found out when Mia screamed “SURPRISE” from the hallway like we were in a sitcom that had lost its budget. I was in a towel. Of course I was in a towel. The universe has a sense of humour and it is not sophisticated.
He was late, which I respected
Forty minutes late. Mia had been refreshing a tracking link like it was a Deliveroo. Sophie had already poured herself a large wine and taken a seat on the good chair, the one we pretend is for guests. I had put on a slip dress because if a stranger is coming to take his clothes off in your sitting room you may as well meet him halfway.
When he arrived he apologised twice. Properly. Not the fake sorry people do when they want you to say it is fine. He had been stuck on the District line and then walked the last bit because the app sent him to the wrong block. He had a gym bag and a polite face. I had expected someone more shiny. He looked like he could also do your taxes if you asked nicely.
Mia clapped. I offered him a drink before I offered him the aux. That felt important. Manners first. Torso later.
The wine situation got away from us
We had two bottles on the go. One was the decent red Sophie buys when she is trying to civilise us. One was the supermarket stuff I pretend is fine. He asked if he was allowed a glass. Mia said yes before any of us had a policy.
So there we were. Three girls, one polite stripper, a Bluetooth speaker that keeps dropping out, and a man called Dan who drinks red wine like he is at his auntie’s. He told us he does this three nights a week and bartends the rest. He has a dog. He hates the song Mia picked. He said it nicely.
Sophie asked him what the weirdest booking he had ever done was. He thought about it, swallowed, and said a hen do in Croydon where someone’s mum joined in. We all made the same face. He laughed into his glass. I decided I liked him. Not in a take-him-to-bed way, not immediately. In a this-man-has-seen-things way. That is rarer.
The actual dancing bit
Look. I have been to worse nights out for more money. This was awkward in the specific way flat parties are awkward. The ceiling is too low. The lighting is the big IKEA lamp we never replaced. There is a pile of post by the door. You cannot pretend you are in a club when your recycling is visible.
He did the job though. Shirt off. The little routine they all seem to know. Mia whooped like she was being paid to. I sat on the arm of the sofa and tried not to look like I was reviewing it for the blog, even though I was obviously reviewing it for the blog.
Sophie watched with her arms folded and then unfolded them, which is as close as she gets to participating. At one point Dan asked who the un-birthday was for. I raised my hand. He said happy un-birthday. I said thank you. It was strangely touching. A stranger in your lounge wishing you well for a date that does not exist. London is full of that energy if you let it in.
Nobody got a lap dance that turned into anything else. I know that will disappoint a certain type of reader. Not every night has to end with someone against the fridge. Sometimes a man just takes his top off, drinks your Rioja, and checks the time because he has another booking in Tooting.
Pizza arrived like a plot twist
Mia had ordered it before he even got here. Optimistic. Also practical. We are not a household that can drink on an empty stomach without becoming ungovernable.
The boxes landed in the middle of the performance. Dan paused, looked at the pepperoni, and asked if we minded if he had a slice after. I said take two. He had been on the Tube. He had been professional. He had not made the night sleazy, which I did not know I needed until it happened.
So the stripper sat on our kitchen stool in his trousers and ate leftover pizza while Mia told him about the time I brought a boy home who tried to put a record on and broke the needle. Dan said that was tragic. He was right. That needle was innocent.
I tipped him in the rest of the pizza and the cash Mia had already taken out. He tried to refuse the food. I put the box in his gym bag. He laughed and said that had never happened. I said welcome to Parsons Green. We are classy in bursts.
What Sophie said when the door shut
She waited until the lift pinged. Then she looked at Mia and said, “you cannot keep spending money like joy is a subscription.”
Mia said it was an experience. Sophie said experiences are meant to be remembered fondly, not explained to the landlord if someone complains about the music. I said the neighbour downstairs plays football on his telly at full volume every Saturday so he can live with twelve minutes of bad R&B.
Then Sophie admitted Dan was “unexpectedly decent” and went to rinse the glasses. That is her version of a five star review.
Mia wanted to rate the night out of ten. I gave it a seven. Points off for lateness and the speaker. Points on for the apology, the wine manners, and the fact I did not have to pretend to be sexier than I felt. There is a lot of pressure on a surprise like that. You think you are supposed to become a different person the second a stranger takes his shirt off in your house. I stayed myself. Towel hair. Slip dress. Pizza grease on my thumb. Fine.
The group chat the next morning
Mia put him in the chat without his surname like that was discretion. She wrote “un-birthday king” and a photo of the empty wine bottles. I told her to delete the photo. Not because I am shy. Because his face was in the reflection of the oven and I actually liked the man. He did a strange job in a small flat and he was kind about it. That deserves a little protection.
A friend from uni asked if I “got a go.” I said I got a conversation and a slice of pepperoni and that was the hotter outcome, actually. She typed “you have changed.” I have not. I have just learned that not every man in your sitting room needs to become a paragraph about the hallway. Some of them can just be Dan from the District line who hates Mia’s playlist.
He texted Mia a thank you, which she forwarded like it was a proposal. Very polite. Very “hope the rest of the un-birthday was fun.” I nearly replied myself. I did not. Let the night stay what it was. A bit stupid. A bit sweet. A bit of a story.
Would I do it again
If Mia books another one I am confiscating her phone. Not because it was bad. Because she will escalate. Next time it will be twins or a fire-eater or a man who arrives on time and ruins the whole charm of it.
The late bit mattered. The apology mattered. The wine mattered. The pizza in the gym bag might be the most intimate thing that happened in this flat all month, which is saying something, and I am saying it with a straight face.
Un-birthdays are a scam Mia invented so she can create a scene. Fine. I will allow it this once. I got a piece out of it. She got to feel like a producer. Sophie got to be the only adult. Dan got carbs for the road.
Everybody left with something. That is as close as we get to a successful party in this house.