BG has headed off for 2 months to visit Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell and as last night was the birthday of BG's Niece's (Also known as Miss Outdrinks the Russian Army) I was reluctantly corralled into going out with her.
I say reluctantly as i knew that I would wake up with a massive fecking hangover today. BG's Niece is a wild one; not exactly trustworthy, but always a lot of fun. I haven't really seen her for a while as I didn't go out with BG very much when the Leech was still in town.
We go to an Argentinian restaurant and, over a bottle of Don Pedro-or-something Cabernet, begin what's probably the biggest gossip session of my life. Seated at a table next to us is an older couple and their friend who leaves them for another appointment.
BG's Niece and i gossip about everything from whether the Leech will propose to work crapola to someone's petty little grudge against me. Eventually we reach the topic that, much like Newton's First Law of Motion, all conversations eventually degenerate into: sex.
For almost 5 months, BG's Niece had apparently been dating an Aussie boy who was originally a guest in the hotel she works at. She shows me some photos; I ask how his measurement were. She then recounts the first time they kissed in the elevator of the hotel. Which, being a rickety Italian elevator, promptly got stuck. For two hours. In which time they did a whole lot more than just kiss in the elevator. Said story being related not in a genteel little whisper either.
During the telling of the tale, I note an usually large number of waiters hovering in my peripheral vision; I dare not glance over to the couple near us for fear that I will begin laughing like a hiccuping hyena.
Today I don't know what amuses me more: the fact that the couple asked for their check or the fact that they asked for it after her story was finished.
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