Screenshots. Voice notes. A blurry photo from the smoking area. I thought I was being discreet. I was being content. There’s a difference and I keep forgetting it.
Tag: girls
Sunday Roast Turned Into Gossip
One bottle in and suddenly everyone’s ex has a name, a job, and a disappointing bedroom habit. I contributed. Obviously. I’m not going to sit there looking saintly.
We Ranked Last Night’s Men
Sunday, hangovers, full English, and a whiteboard. Cruel? Maybe. Accurate? Deadly. One of them is already texting and I haven’t decided if that’s peak or useful.
Afterparty Toilet Full Of Stories
Three girls in a cubicle at 4am swapping who they’d just left in the main room. Names, positions, who came, who didn’t. I wrote it down in Notes. Gold.
The Shared Bathroom Queue
Four girls, one lock, someone’s boyfriend knocking like he pays rent. I gave her my concealer. She gave me the story. That’s how you leave a club with better gossip than a hangover.
She Said I Looked Cheap
Some girl in the queue for the loo, full face on, calling my dress tarty. I smiled, took a photo anyway, and posted it before last orders. She can cope.
We Did It Before Last Orders
Pub toilet. Lock that didn’t work. Someone knocked twice. I said “occupied” like I was booking a meeting room.
Champagne Then The Ugly Truth
Girls’ night started classy. Ended with who slept with whose almost-boyfriend in May. I didn’t start it. I just didn’t stop it. That’s different, innit.