Squeaky Voice
One night (five years ago or so) at a nightclub just off Oxford Street, I was dancing with this girl. She seemed keen, and I wasn't even that put off by her odd squeaky high-pitched voice.

However, her mate told my mate to tell me that she was married, and that I shouldn't expect too much. Anything in fact.

But she genuinely seemed keen. She did. She DID. She even asked for my mobile number.

She even said she'd be coming back to the same nightclub the following week.

A week later, plus an unwise number of beers on top of that, in she walks, along with a coterie of pals, both male and female. Squeaky-voice goes to the bar. Alone.

I amble over and explain that she's right fit and she obviously had fun last week, and my mate was clearly confused about some whole marriage thing he was blabbing on about.

"Oh no" she squeaked, "my husband is sitting just over there!"
I looked in the direction that Squeaky-voice was pointing in, possibly putting a hand over one eye to aid focusing.
"Him?"
"Yes."
"But, he'sh ugly... I'm betterr looken than im an I ain't all that."

I then proceeded to badger the poor squeakyvoiced lady for a further 5-10 minutes, along the lines of "But he's ugly. I am almost certainly cleverer than him. And better company." All slurred to fuck.

And the odd thing was, she put up with it. No drink poured over me. No pithy piss off. Not even a polite "Well it's been nice to meet you again but..."

I eventually gave up. I have the distinct feeling that that was one of those nights where I woke up the next morning without the slightest clue as to how I got home.

For your patience, Squeakyvoiced lady, I salute you. You seem like an excellent wife, and if I wasn't now married, I'd have another pop at you. You champ.
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 8:48, 1 reply)

without the slightest clue as to how I got home
That would be the Beer Scooter - mankinds finest transport device for the inebriated.
(nonstopdancer, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 11:09, closed)