Get Out of My Dreams, Get of Out of My Car
I met quite a cute girl while bar tending in a busy, popular bar in Northern England. She was extremely cute actually (jet black hair, blue eyes, great body) and seemed to have a pretty good personality, an impression I got based on the 15 minutes or so that we talked. I asked her out and we agreed to meet the following evening, a Sunday, to pick her up at 7p.m. She did, however, have one strange stipulation. She told me not come to the door, but just wait in the car.
Her cuteness made me adhere to this rule. However, by 7.30 p.m., I began to get a little impatient, and I could see her parents looking at me strangely as I sat outside their house. The hell with it, I thought, and went to the door. I sat and talked to her mom for 20 more minutes, until she eventually came downstairs.
“I thought I told you to wait outside?” she asked angrily, which surprised me.
She looked phenomenal in her tight blue jeans and fitted black shirt so I decided to try to ignore it. We got in the car and left. Five minutes down the road, after some awkward conversation (I was still mad about waiting and being reprimanded), she told me that we had to go back.
“I forgot my lipstick,” she said.
So we went back. Three minutes into the second attempt at leaving, we had to go back for something else. I believe it was a comb. Unbelievably, 30 seconds into the third attempt at a night out, she opened her mouth and showed the first sign of humility, saying, “I forgot something else. We have to go back. I have the memory of a goldfish.”
Unfortunately, I had had it, and without thinking said, “You have the face of a goddamned goldfish, too.”
She got right out of the car and I drove off. Never saw her again.
I wonder if her version of this story is on this site somewhere?
