Piss elegance.


This is my 500th Post.

A big Saturday in Cilla-ville.

First was running training, with Carol’s patented torture method of what I lovingly describe as “Bitch Pyramid”.

Squats, Lunges, Pushups, situps, tricep dips, and running up and down hills. By crikey I am sore today, and I could barely lift my arms after. Still, if it hurts, it works.

Then out with MelGazelle for walkies and lunch, she is finally back on her feet after a complication of IVF treatment that made her very ill indeed. She loves her exercise and has not been allowed to. She is not allowed caffiene, alcohol, exercise, nor any more tawdry pleasures. She is feeling rather ratty, and I was glad to provide distraction.

The afternoon was spent napping – I need my rest. A massage, where I surfed some alpha waves (look that up) and got some tight bits kneaded.

Then I had a friend’s 40th birthday party to go to – M lives with his (male) partner D and they are quite wealthy from a side business that they run in addition to M’s doctoring. The dress code read “Piss Elegant”. I did not know what that meant. I went for sophisticated with a touch of saucy minx. There were lots of diamantes on people. Hey, I want to wear the real thing or not at all.

It was fun, the party. It was crawling with doctors, most of whom I knew, peripherally. I got to schmooze with some people. Never know where it might come in handy.

The entertainment was in the form of drag queens, it was super funny. Made all the more funny by the yummy drinks – the champagne, the cocktails. There were very nice canapes, too. These were served by some eye-candy waiters who were supposedly hand picked by D. Don’t know whether they were gay or straight but their little wink at me when they served me up alcohol said they were probably the latter.

I had quite a bit to drink. It was there, it was good, so I drank it. I was feeling fine, mildly tipsy, and had a second cocktail, some vodka and lychee combination. That killed me. Never mix your grape and your grain, they say. It is never promising when you need to hold on to the wall to stay balanced.

I went and had a little sit on the couch at the back. That didn’t work, so I insouciantly flipped my heels off and curled up on my side.

I thought “oh, shit, I am drunk, how the fuck will I get home?” I tried to lift my head, and it was too hard.

Alcohol in large quantities brings forth some more melancholy thoughts. I felt my heart aching, twisting, bits shattering off it. I sat in the dark hole for a bit, cried on the inside. I did not spew, thank god.

I felt a pat on my shoulder – it was M. I slurred “could I have a drink of water please?”

Minutes later one of the hot cater guys helped me sit up and helped me sip some water. Rescue #1.

I texted a friend to come and pick me up. I did not think they would be able to, but I texted anyway.

Slowly, after many stern instructions to myself to “sober the fuck up”, I got up and re-circulated. LEGEND! My voice was a bit slurred but I was walking quite steadily, even on stilettos.

I spoke to a few people. Found myself in the path of a gentleman called Tom. Tom introduced himself and very rapidly proceeded to ask me to go for a drink after the party. I politely declined and walked away. I thought, “shit, somebody get me out of here”. I spoke to a few more people. Sobered up a bit more. Drank some more water.

I got a text on my phone – “am outside”. Rescue #2. Fantastic.

Parties are great (especially with hot waiters), Champagne is awesome, schmoozing is fabulous, but having people look out for you is better still.

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