I've been away for four days, and man did that kitten get ugly. She's turned into this massive squawling creature with very bad breath. This must be what parents feel like when thye get back from holiday and their cute little toddler has turned into some hormonally addled teenager.
So it was the 'gig of they year' this weekend. Seriously, that's what it said on the invitation. Mr Unsuitable got married. It didn't say that on the invitation. I was surprisingly self-controlled, wished them both well, made polite conversation, didn't make one single bitchy comment about the size of the bride's arse. By the time we got there everybody was hammered, but I didn't feel obliged to join in, and danced stone cold sober for possibly the first time in my puny life. With no shoes on!
My friend John started explaining the more intricate details of fantasy role play just as The Cure came on. My eyes were watering with the strain of not abandoning him mid-sentence and bouncing onto the dancefloor. I was going to request 'Love Will Tear Us Apart', but the DJ looked like a bit of a sociopath, and wasn't going to risk messing up his playlist. Plus it would just be sour grapes really, would it not? Unless everybody had decided it was ironic? Damn it, I should have asked for 'That Don't Impress Me Much' by Shania Twain.