I'm Not A Slag
.
I think I've told this story before...

When I was a student I worked on a fruit farm during the summer. It was some of the best times of my life.

This one summer, a contingent of Irish girls arrived, about 12 of them, and they were all fit as fuck but one stood out. A beautiful statuesque brunette. About 5' 8'', gorgeous green eyes and a chest that looked like a dead heat in a Zepplin race. I was smitten.

So that night everyone went to the local pub and the drinking games commenced. The beautiful Irish lass was there and I tried not to ogle her too much. I sighed. She was waaaay out of my league but, on the principle that Shy Bairns Get No Toys, I tried to chat her up. She convincingly blew me out of the water and I retired to my usual crowd and got off with one of the Polish birds instead and got on with life.

A few nights later I was walking back from the pub on my own when I entered the camp site. Helen, the gorgeous Irish bird spotted me and came charging at me, whirling her handbag around her head, shrieking like a banshee. She was pissed as a Judge. She came up to me and clobbered me with this bloody hand bag, laughing her head off.

It fucking hurt. I swear she had a half-brick in it. Then she lined up for another shot and I quickly grabbed her wrists, squeezed to make her drop the bag then asked her what the fuck she was doing.

"Let go of my wrists" she said.

"Will you behave" I asked.

"Yes" she giggled.

So I let go and the bloody witch poked me straight in the eyeball. That *really* hurt. My temper flared. If this had been a bloke I would have broken his jaw. But, as it was a woman, I just swept her legs our from underneath her so she went flat on her arse and I stalked off into the darkness. I headed for a campfire well away from my usual haunts and sat down to nurse my injured eye and feelings. Bloody women!

Over the next hour I could hear Helen calling for me but I kept quiet and hoped she's fall in the cesspit. However, she eventually found me and came up to me, still drunk, but very contrite. I was still boiling but over the next hour she gradually brought me round. That night we went back to my tent together and then spent the rest of that golden summer together.

But that first night I asked her why she'd belted me.

"Because you'd trapped off with that Polish slut the night I met you."

Eh?

"But I'd already tried to get off with you and you made it more than plain that you wouldn't touch me with a barge-pole" I spluttered "You made me feel about 2 inches high and then laughed in my face!"

"I was playing hard to get" she explained gently "I didn't want you to think I was a slag"

Women. I didn't understand them then.But now, as I've gotten older and *much* more experienced, I understand them even less.

Cheers


There are some rare exceptions. Mrs Legless, Tourettes and K's Mrs

( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 12:54, 2 replies)

Women. Can't live with them
can't leave them by the curb when you're done with them.

(Cool points if you recognize that quote.)

There are few enough women out there who I really understand and who act according to the dictates of rationality and logic. I've been fortunate enough to meet some of them. Unfortunately they're generally already taken...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:15, closed)

Indeed
They have their own weird form of logic. That ironically, isn't logical at all...
(Panteneman Isn't entirely sure why he bothered on, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 13:27, closed)