|
It's well documented that the Tartlets are creatures of the night, however
sometimes even we feel the need to blearily step out into the sunlight in
order to converse about friends and foes in a place not drowned out by a
heavy bassline. It is times like these when codenames are essential,
especially in a place like Oxford, where everyone knows everyone and you
never know who is listening to the scandalous stories divulged. Some of
our most well loved (and strictly copyrighted) codenames have included:
Tantric Cookie
Porridge
Merkin (aka Pubic Wig)
Boote'
Cat's Bum Mouth
Spade Face
It was a recent post-lash burger debrief that confirmed this need, after
an amused couple next to us found our unique conversational style highly
entertaining.
Patsy: The Merkin was there last night, chucking me evils across the
dancefloor.
Eddie: You think that’s bad, Spade Face was shopping around for a pound
in the coat room queue like the scabby bitch she is…seriously, she looks
like she’s been deep-fried.
[Open-mouthed wonderment ensues from the amused couple next to us]
This isn’t to say that we don’t ever partake in a bit of eavesdropping
ourselves. Particularly hard to resist were gems such as the girl who
claimed that she, “couldn’t pull off Downs Syndrome, sort of like a maxi
skirt, it doesn’t suit everyone.” Interesting. Another story gleaned
from a neighboring table involved a girl taking home what she assumed to
be a Buff-ting boy, only to wake up the next morning in a state of mild
panic and confusion as she looked at the minging stranger next to her.
Apparently, their conversation went a little like this…
[Drunken Mess shakes Minging Boy awake]
DM: Who are you?
MB: Err, we went home together last night….and we….
DM: NO. The boy I brought home was way fitter than you. WHERE DID HE GO?
Slightly awkward.
The night prior to this conversation, and the subject of much debate the
following day was: why you should never pat the stray dog.
Obviously being the vivacious and attractive women that we are, it goes
without saying that we have a lot of admirers. Not all of them are
welcome, however, because we are kind souls we never like to openly shun
people that aren’t our cup of tea but still answer some of our needs on a
night out. More often than not, this ends with an awkward situation where
a boy has experienced a little bit of kindness and keeps coming back and
begging for more, much like a raggedy old stray dog. This week, one of
our many man mongrels (or mangrels, as we like to call them) pushed his
luck.
After pity accepting a drinks invitation pre-clubbing, he subsequently got
one of our friends kicked out, insulted a couple more and let his hands
wander in a way unacceptable to your fair heroines. After removing
ourselves discreetly from the situation, and agreeing to NEVER pat this
stray dog again, we shimmied on to adventures new.
Eddie then went on to get what can only be described as paralytic from one
too many spritzers, only to be launched upon by a gentleman sporting some
unusual facial (and cranial) hair. A classic stray dog. Normally Patsy
is at hand to deflect these kind of unwelcome advances, but unfortunately
she had already been whisked away for a night of passion (we use the term
loosely) in a dingy student hovel. Someone who did witness this attempted
plundering of Eddie’s face was our dear friend No Knickers, who gracefully
saved the day by inserting a hand between the two faces and called on
Eddie’s boyfriend, the Fresher Magnet, to escort them home.
Not that that ever signals the end of adventure for girls like us. Not
only was Fresher Magnet vigorously questioned by the bouncer whether he knew
the inebriated girl draped over his shoulder, (which fortunately Eddie
managed to slur out that she did) “He’s not a RAPISSSHT he’s my
LUUUUURRRVER” but unbeknownst to all, No Knickers was wielding some
cheesy chips around her head with the anger and determination of an
Olympic shot-putter outside of her ex-boyfriend’s house. To the Fresher
Magnet’s credit, he did do his best to remove her from the scene of the
crime, but by the time he had reached her, chips and cheese (and possibly
garlic mayo) were already dripping down the windows.
Fast forward to the next morning, Patsy was doing her walk home
(shamelessly) and feeling pretty proud of herself for being able to walk
incognito through the streets of Cowley. Or so she thought. On the final
stretch of her morning ramble, she was clocked by a group of boys with
zero manners loitering on Divinity road. Instead of letting her pass with
some dignity, they proceeded to point out her obvious Walk of Shame and
hurl abuse from quite some distance and for quite an extended period of
time. Being the cool cucumber that she is, she acknowledged them with a
friendly finger and a laugh, all the while dying inside.
And so, kittens, we find ourselves back where we started, with minimal
lessons learnt:
1) Cheesy chips are food, not weapons
2) Introduce codenames into your daily vocabulary
3) And most importantly, NEVER pat the stray dog
Until next time darrrrlings,
Eddie and Patsy
Mwah
|
