Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Snack After Midnight)

27 Feb

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Midnight snacks are an essential part of any sleepover, drunken night out or end to a Nigella Lawson episode. And while it’s common to eat out of boredom or with the onset of winter, I would like to propose a new, highly nutritious model:

It is reasonable to suggest that any time after midnight is technically part of a new day. So, by extension, the “snacks” that we consume after the stroke of twelve are just a very early breakfast. They are also the perfect way to kick start my metabolism for the breakfast I won’t eat because cereal is boring and I ate all the bacon at midnight. A verifiable mealtime revolution! I will be thin and fight off bottom related largess.

You see, when you skip a meal, your body feeds off its fat stores. And if you skip enough, maybe your body will eat your ass. *

So I have a confession. I may have missed a few details about last weeks festival conquest who might have had an altercation with a vacuum cleaner that went for his jugular…what I’m trying to say with my ham-handed metaphor is that I’m a horrible, juvenile person who decided it would be hilarious to give him a hickey. Thinking in all likelihood I’d probably never see him again.

* You are a smelly pirate hooker! Why don’t you go back to you’re home on Whore Island? *

But as 6 degrees of separation and the fact that I am, out of some morbid curiosity allowed to continue with the freak show I call my life; that particular deed has came back to bite me.

My penchant for lists dictate I give it to you straight (ha!) and in bullet point form:

* It’s $500 for kissing, $10,000 for cuddling. End of list. *

  • Mr. Sheffield happens to play for a university sports team.
  • My brother’s girlfriend has a younger sister who also plays for that team.
  • At the subsequent practice, several remarks were directed towards said love bite.
  • My name was mentioned.
  • Shit got real.
  • I died.

* Apparently F.R. Leavis is coming. *

Hold the press! I just had a phone call from Mr. Sheffield.

I’m going to digress and you will sit there and you will like it!

We spent 20 minutes having a conversation that involved the words penchant and predilection. I even said how stupid it was that everyone seems to be so scared of talking on phones these days and that texts are so safe. Amazing! As the conversation was coming to a close and our date re-scheduled for Monday night. I was playing with my empty wine glass when I broke it. The rest of the conversation went a little something like this:

“Oh fuck, I just broke my wine glass”

Silence

“Not that I was drinking on a Wednesday by myself!”

Laughter

“I-hope-you-have-a-good-weekend-I’ll-see-you-Monday-bye! FUCK”

Mazel tov bitches.

But wait, then what do I do? I immediately send him a friend request on Facebook.

WHY DON’T I JUST FALL UP THE STAIRS AT THE OSCARS?!

Ok. Calm. No biggie. I like a mid-week drink. And hard “K” sounds. All I need now is the noughties equivalent of Mr. Darcy emerging from a lake. Which just so happens to be a combination of Cooper Nielson doing his butt buster routine in Center Stage and Daniel Craig coming out of the water in Casino Royale.

I’m going to put that shit on a loop, light up a cigarette and eat some goddamn Brie.

* Focker out! *

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