Tinder and Blind

It had been around five months since I so much as accepted a drink from a male I wasn’t related to, call it a drought, call it not having time to concentrate on the opposite sex because work had become my life, either way I was subconsciously turning celibate quite happily.

This changed recently after copious amounts of vodka being drank out of a watermelon, and 12 hours worth of partying fuelled by an all you can eat buffet complete with chocolate fountain and an unlimited supply of booze.  This my friends, is what we here call a brunch.

Most brunches mean I’ve passed out and had two hangovers by 8pm.

This brunch had me going till 1am and oh my did it come with its consequences. Firstly there was a lot of dancing involved, with dancing came tequila and confidence. The next thing I remember is making eyes with a guy I deemed hot at the bar, he asked if I wanted a drink, I asked if the pope was Catholic, and off on an incoherent deep and meaningful we went.

After talking about things I have no recollection of, he then asked my favourite film (it’s ‘Three Men and a Little Lady’ by the way) and he said his was The Departed to which I admitted (wrongly) that I hadn’t seen. Of course I’ve seen it but I was 2 litres of gin down by this point so I thought he said another film. Anyway, by the time I’d realised he had said the film I had seen, I had to play dumb (and I looked it I’m sure) and his response was ‘we have to go and watch it now, back at mine, no funny business, just the film’. So I’m there weighing up super fast ‘it’s been a while, I’m intoxicated, and my feet are hurting so I could do with a film/lie down.’

He hesitates and says ‘oh, actually, erm, have you got the internet at yours?’ well I don’t live in the dark ages so obviously that’s a stupid question, but I wasn’t having him back at mine because I could just imagine him staying till gone midday the following day and I can’t be doing with the whole awkward next day scene. I am more of a sneaker outter the next day.

So I ask why he had changed his mind, to which he responded something that I had to see: ‘well, I’ve recently moved in with a divorced guy who is the landlord of my flat..and he has two parrots and a cat’.. to which I ask ‘do they talk?’ I had to see these talking parrots just for the story.. Yes they talked. Not only did they talk, but they had Scouse accents. This I HAD to see.

So I told him sorry but we aren’t going back to mine and thus we end up at his..

We get to the lobby of his building when the security man behind the desk asks him over. I’m stood there trying to be all sophisticated and sober looking, while really my eyes are glazed over and my hair is parted to the wrong side.

He comes over to me and says ‘right, we have a situation. The guard has just told me that my landlord, erm, he, well, he has a prostitute upstairs’, to which I literally crack up laughing. I think I even said out loud ‘oh my god I just can’t even make this up for entertainment’ because guys, this is all true!! and I’m so glad I have a platform to share with you.

Anyway, we make our way up to the apartment and I am visibly holding my breath while imagining bursting into a scene that I never thought I’d witness ever, let alone in this country.

The place is pitch black with no sign of human activity, we creep to his room before I almost trip over the cat. I then whisper ‘please can I see the parrots?’ I needed video evidence of these birds. He tells me where they are while he goes to the bathroom. I walk into said direction where I’m confronted by the sight of an extremely overweight man sitting topless, fast asleep in an arm chair. I jump out of my skin and really probably loudly, try to be quiet in running back to the room, tripping over the cat a second time.

I whisper-shout ‘your landlord is in there, asleep, I didn’t see the hooker!!’. He goes into the living room to make sure his landlord is alive and still has his wallet. He’s fine. All this excitement got me so tired that I quite literally fall asleep on top of his bed like a dead weight.

I’m woken up a few hours later by the sound of ‘alryyyt mate, Do Do Do Do Do Dooo Do Do’ you know, that football chant, followed by a wolf whistle. Yes, it’s the parrots in their Scouse accents.

I make a swift exit, but not before taking a selfie with the cat on the way out.