Met up with Friend-Karen after work, for a drink and to meet her new fella.
New fella is called John and within a few minutes of him opening his mouth I realised that he was vaguely familiar although for the life of me I couldn’t think where from.
Friend-Karen, in a manner that suggested she may have heard some of his riveting ‘totally hammered’ stories a couple of times before, kept finishing his sentences for him. Before he was able to open his mouth again she rapidly switched to one of her riveting ‘shopping’ stories. I won’t attempt to relay the content of these monologues due to the fact that for the most part I have forgotten them.
Suffice to say, if he hasn’t drunk it she has probably bought it.
Now don’t misunderstand, Friend-Karen is a top bird but she inhabits an entirely different world to me. Friend-Karen works in the City and earns squillions of pounds which she spends on things like posh face cream, Jo Malone candles and having her cars valeted. Friend-Karen actually has an assistant who takes her natty little Fendi suits to the dry cleaners. Friend-Karen gets cross about things like her plane ticket being business class rather than first class.
I, on the other hand, earn slightly above minimum wage and splash my dosh around on things like gas, electric and food. I have a childminder who comes down with a nasty stomach bug every Monday morning and a ‘bitch of a migraine’ every Friday afternoon. I get cross about things like the dog throwing up on my bed and only realising when I lie in it or explaining for the thousandth time to the Teenager that proper toilet etiquette involves lifting the seat and aiming at the bowl.
It wasn’t until I was on my way home that I remembered who John reminded me of; he is a dead ringer for Facejacker’s Terry Tibbs.
The smug, superior feeling that this breakthrough afforded me lasted all the way home. Right up to the point, in fact, that I discovered the dog had thrown up in my bed again.