So last night I met my old workmate for drinks. I dressed to impress, and looked pretty damned fine even if I do say so myself. It was a great ego boost, especially since I knew there was zero chance of any funny business occuring with him. It was nice. Drinks in the sun, followed by a slap up meal at a Japanese restaurant in central London. He paid, of course. He can bloody well afford it by the sounds of things too. So I had a good night. Then, I get home, get in bed and my phone goes off with this:
Erm. What the ACTUAL FUCK? This is Soldier Boy – completely incapable of understanding I’m just not interested. At all. If I wasn’t so tired my eyes would’ve popped out of my head but I was, so they stayed where they were. As you can see, when I woke up (an hour late I might add) he’d tried to backtrack. Really? How on earth he could possibly think he’s endearing himself to me I’ll never know. Waves of desperation more like. And this is after I sent the below message last week, as I’d blogged about.
Sigh. Why is it always the guys you really don’t want who hound you down?
Safe to say it’s a line I ain’t biting. Good luck to him. Cheeky get.
In other news, designs are taking place for tattoo number five. Hooray!