the biggest guilt trip
I have many.

Such as the time my little wing of halls all got drunk together in the kitchen, and one wag (name witheld) decided to climb out of the window and break into the freaky hairy smelly french man's room next door (he wasn't in). All fine (except it involved climbing over parapits 6 storeys up on a shaky old building).

Once that was survived, he let us all in, and how we laughed at the locked wardrobe (why? why lock your wardrobe in a room with a lock? why? gimp? kinky nurse outfit? why?), and the freakish tidiness, my roommate looked into a fairly large wooden box by his bed, slammed it shut and said she needed to leave.

EC condom mountain inside.

We knew (thin walls, tiny community) he wasn't getting any (god, the smell, sour milk and garlic..it was the thick layer of fur that caused it), so posh wanker was the conclusion.

Only when the day came he did get some action into his room, he made a point of knocking of my friend's door to ask for some 'things'. Took all my mate had not to tell him to go look in his box.

Okay, I don't feel guilty about that, I hated the man. Just needed to vent that.

I do, however, feel guilty about the time I left my university to pay a supplier for a degree show when I'd said they were giving us the items afterwards, then I fucked off from Blighty to live in New York. Sorry David, I didn't know...
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Wed 11 Feb 2004, 20:33, Reply)