Welcome back, baby…

single in the cityThere’s nothing quite like 8 hours of constant drinking with one’s best gf, a rather substantial boutique-hotel bar tab (I can actually afford to pay for once), and being told you’re hot along with a polite proposal for sex from a handsome 2o-something, to welcome a girl back to her former hood.

Yes, despite the fact  I had no opportunity to change and was still wearing the world’s most horrendous footwear known to mankind (initially to escape my winter prison for my travels to the big city), I could have still gotten laid from an attractive man young enough to be my ‘nephew.’

While young grasshopper tried to waver my reluctance to get horizontal, the internal dialogue between my invisible ‘them’ went something like this…

a d

Devil Cake: Interesting proposition. It’s been 8 months –  That’s a record we haven’t broken since 1995. Technically longer, as you could hardly count your last escapade with ‘Mr. Frozen Vegetable’ and his 15 seconds of  futility and forgetting to remove his socks.

Angel Cake: Yes well drunk sex with a 25 year-old? Undoubtedly flattering, but no. We are doing him  a favour. He’s got the rest of his 20’s for unsatisfying, drunken sex. We’re not here to a spend a week  contributing to drunken debauchery and tallying any further sexual shenanigans to carve into our bed post.

Devil Cake: Uff! When did you become so mature?

Angel Cake: We have bigger fish to fry. Remember the real reason we’re here?

Devil Cake: Ah yes! The British are coming! … And in less than 48 hours. Could we prove that in a proverbial sea of frozen or rancid cod – internet dating and OUR EFFORTS may NOT be a lost cause after all?  (Especially after 7 months of quasi-daily correspondence and all the money we spent on lip gloss. Hopefully THIS Englishman will not chastise us if we eat the last banana.

Angel Cake: I have higher hopes for this one. Anytime we had ever analysed to a pulp the most microscopic detail to raise an eyebrow – he has proven us completely wrong. This a person flying OVERSEAS to make this happen. This is NOT our Italian ‘Stalker Ex’ with a transparent month-long agenda and a pair of cannon-sized blue-balls. It’s not like he couldn’t get laid in his own backyard. He is either serious or seriously crazy. Hopefully not the latter.

This is about to get interesting…

Welcome back to the big city.


About Cakes McCain

Aka. 'Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds' Ex-pat, lunatic, survivor - A Bridget Jones/Shirley Valentine hybrid, epically flawed, neurotic literary ‘dirty apple’ with a penchant for broad shoulders, epic orgasms, & lazy Sunday mornings eating cake in bed. Almost always broken-hearted, forever analysing everything to a bloody pulp and eternally obessing over 'Pasta for One - The Manuscript' a chick-lit memoir about living single in fabulous Italy, while trying not to throw yourself in front of a speeding bus.
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7 Responses to Welcome back, baby…

  1. storyofalice says:

    Welcome back to Blogville, I’ve missed you! Have lots of fun! xoxo

  2. MJ says:

    So glad to hear your voice again…xo

  3. SillyG says:

    Wait… you have uggs?

  4. yay! welcome back! hope you have a ball [not a ‘blue’ ball, however…no…hmmm].

  5. The Hook says:

    I applaud your maturity – Sister.

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