City Boy On The Run
I spontaneously agreed to a drinks date with a City boy (Ed. note: a City boy is the London equivalent of a Wall Street guy) I met online. After a few rounds of vodkas, we moved on to a late-night bar. At this point, I was feeling a bit more whoozy than I should have on the four vodkas I’d drank. We got to the bar and I felt myself turn green. The next thing I knew I was on the other side of the bar and on the floor in the recovery position. My immediate reaction was one of embarrassment. I tried to laugh it off but then I realised I was actually really ill and an ambulance had been called. The nice man looking after me, wasn’t my City boy, but the doorman, who proceeded informed me that City boy had ran out of there and that my handbag could not be found. Luckily, my handbag turned up somehow and off I went to A&E (Accident & Emergency). The story seemed to spread round the hospital like wildfire with every nurse, porter, ambulance driver having a laugh at my disaster of a date and telling me their worst stories. None of which were quiet as bad! Funnily enough, I did get a phone call from City boy the next day. He pretended that he was there the whole time when he realised I didn’t remember much. Then another night, his friend (not someone I knew) dialed my number on City boy’s phone. He (the friend) proceeded let me hear City boy tell everyone his version of “his date from hell.” Maybe I better date a doctor next.
Cheers!
