Somewhat boisterous, I'd wager to announce Saturday and Sunday past as 'the weekend' as if none other could have had one like me, or even worse to think that I will never live trough another Friday evening 'till monday morning filled up with pure joy.
It does not befall me very often to start an evening at a party in the kitchen sipping to end up practically sober and shaking every inch of my body on the dancefloor.* Nor do I spend many of my Saturdays shopping tea, reading newspapers, singing Flemish chanson out of key** and shaking off rather drunk Dutchmen who insist on kissing me.
* For the sake of those who've heard the story a billion times by now I shall remain silent on the subject of what happened between the first glass of wine and half past 2 a.m. but you may fantasise about it if you promise to include these ingrediënts; semi-hot guy, three glasses of rather sweet white wine, a very hot black'n'pink outfit and lots of converstion.
** These are all lies, I wouled spend all my saturdays like this if I had even te remotest chance.
1 comment:
I'm very curious to hear the story on Saturday :-)
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