When I met Don Quixote, he was just as adorable as he sounded. Plus, he sounded just like Antonio Banderes. Sadly, I couldn't stay at the party too late, as I had to catch the last tube of the evening and hadn't brought my glasses along. My blindness prevents me from staying out all night, because I am seriously so blind, that if I don't have my glasses and something were to happen to my contacts (like having them pop out after being in all night), I would pretty much need a guide dog to get me home. Before I left, however, I told Cecilia that I thought Don Quixote was adorable. She said, "That's great! I'll tell him!" At that point, I had had a few glasses of wine and didn't really care what she told him.
The next day when I met up with Cecilia, she told me that she had indeed told Don Quixote what I had said. Apparently he thought I was adorable too, and asked why I had left. I resolved to get laser surgery someday soon.
I saw Don Quixote a couple times over the next two weeks, including Thursday. I had spent 3 hours of my afternoon diagramming sentences with classmates, and after that we needed a drink. As happens in an English pub, one drink turned into 5. When we finally left the pub, I dragged my drunken ass to another pub to meet up with Cecilia and Don Quixote. I was chatting with Donny Q when he stopped mid-sentence and grabbed my thumbs. Damn, I thought. He's noticed my mutant thumbs. Seriously, not only do I have faulty vision, but I also got the short end of the stick when it came to my thumbs. And I do mean short. My thumbs are what many refer to as clubbed thumbs, or a host of other completely unflattering names, and they are the bane of my existence. They can never be sexy. Now that he's noticed them, I thought, this can never happen.
But then he insisted they were cute. Huh. I'm pretty sure the only people who have told me that are people who wanted to sleep with me. But then the 5 drinks and the sentence diagramming caught up with me and I needed to go home and crawl into bed. So I did.
Saturday night, I met up with Cecelia and her obnoxious 21-year-old flatmate, and we met up with Fen for some fireworks. Afterward, we went out, while I reminded myself that the 21-year-old cannot help being obnoxious, and the fact that she was saying that people who wear rain boots look stupid (while I was wearing them) was not because she's a bad person, but because she was born in 1990.
We ended up meeting up with several other friends, including Don Quixote. At one point, Don and I decided instead of paying 5 pounds a beer, we would go down to the nearest convenience store and pay 1 pound a beer and drink it on the street. So we did, and the whole time I kept feeling like I was breaking open container laws, but the cops passed us and didn't so much as bat an eye. Before we got back to the bar, we each received text messages that everyone was leaving us and going home. The night was still young, though, so we powered on.
By the time 2:30 came around, I was starting to get tired, but I had long since missed the last tube. I was really only left with one option: to go home with Don Quixote. (And yes, I had brought my glasses with me, figuring I would crash at Cecilia's or something, but she was already gone, so Don would have to do.)
It started out innocently enough. He even put clothes on, but explained that normally he would sleep naked but didn't want me to feel uncomfortable (awwww). But then we started kissing, and the clothes came off anyway, and things happened. Thank goodness I decided to shave my legs with the rationalization that the power of positive thinking might lead to some positive action. It's like feng shui for your body.
In the morning, when I dragged my ass to the bathroom, I noticed the hickeys on my neck. I have never in my life had a hickey, not because I've never had the opportunity to have one, but because it takes quite a bit to make me bruise, and now I sit here wearing a turtleneck sweater and my hair down because I have two of them. I feel about 15-years-old. I know exactly when I got them too, because I remember thinking in the moment "wow, that could leave a mark".
He was nice enough this morning to bring me orange juice and walk me to the door- stark naked. And no, he doesn't live alone. Oh, those Europeans.
While I was taking the tube ride of shame home this morning, I was extremely grateful that I was wearing supposedly stupid-looking rain boots. It was a lot less conspicuous than had I been wearing heels and a short dress. These are things you learn by the time you're 29. Take that, 1990.
We ended up meeting up with several other friends, including Don Quixote. At one point, Don and I decided instead of paying 5 pounds a beer, we would go down to the nearest convenience store and pay 1 pound a beer and drink it on the street. So we did, and the whole time I kept feeling like I was breaking open container laws, but the cops passed us and didn't so much as bat an eye. Before we got back to the bar, we each received text messages that everyone was leaving us and going home. The night was still young, though, so we powered on.
By the time 2:30 came around, I was starting to get tired, but I had long since missed the last tube. I was really only left with one option: to go home with Don Quixote. (And yes, I had brought my glasses with me, figuring I would crash at Cecilia's or something, but she was already gone, so Don would have to do.)
It started out innocently enough. He even put clothes on, but explained that normally he would sleep naked but didn't want me to feel uncomfortable (awwww). But then we started kissing, and the clothes came off anyway, and things happened. Thank goodness I decided to shave my legs with the rationalization that the power of positive thinking might lead to some positive action. It's like feng shui for your body.
In the morning, when I dragged my ass to the bathroom, I noticed the hickeys on my neck. I have never in my life had a hickey, not because I've never had the opportunity to have one, but because it takes quite a bit to make me bruise, and now I sit here wearing a turtleneck sweater and my hair down because I have two of them. I feel about 15-years-old. I know exactly when I got them too, because I remember thinking in the moment "wow, that could leave a mark".
He was nice enough this morning to bring me orange juice and walk me to the door- stark naked. And no, he doesn't live alone. Oh, those Europeans.
While I was taking the tube ride of shame home this morning, I was extremely grateful that I was wearing supposedly stupid-looking rain boots. It was a lot less conspicuous than had I been wearing heels and a short dress. These are things you learn by the time you're 29. Take that, 1990.
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