Tuesday, 15 December 2015

Sharing isn't always caring.

When I've indulged in far too much food, I can't help but feel personally victimised by Steel Panther's 'Fat Girl'. When I lost my virginity, I thankfully stopped relating to Britney Spears' 'I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman.' But in all honesty, I never thought I'd help someone relate to Little Man Tate's 'It seems a little funny, cause her sister kissed the same' lyric. It most certainly wasn't what I was expecting when I went home the other weekend.

Having said that, I hadn’t gone home with the expectation that I'd fall in literal crap. I’m 98% sure that also happened. It turns out that Vans are not the best trainers to wear when you're adventuring in a forest. Their lack of grip will not help you when you're clambering over wet moss, and you will fall into a large pile of extremely questionable matter. No matter how many times your parent tries to convince you that your elbows and knees are simply covered in mouldy tree bark, you can't ignore the distinct smell of feces. I guess shit really does happen.

So, back to the real issue; my sister and I somehow ended our Saturday night by kissing the same guy. My sister and I will often share things, but sharing a guy is definitely a few steps too far.  I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but I can't deny that it did happen. It's not like the guy can claim that it was a case of drunken misidentification, given that my sister and I look completely different. My sister looks like she could be one of those Swedish girls that guys talk about, whilst it's not uncommon for people to mistake me for Michael McIntyre. 

On reflection, introducing a game of Minesweep might have been the catalyst. I understand that some people think that consuming beverages, that have been foolishly left unattended, is quite dangerous, pretty stupid, and actually just grim. I personally prefer to believe that initiating a game of Minesweep actually makes me much more like a modern day Robin Hood. Instead of strangers drinking their own potentially drugged drink, I'll save them from that risk by consuming it for them. I guess you could say that I'm just your average Saturday night hero (you probably won't say that, but you could). 

Truthfully, I probably shouldn't have kissed the guy in the first place because I've already more than made out with his brother (it's a small town...kind of). Thankfully, it meant that I wasn't bothered when my sister came over and told me that she'd also kissed this guy . In all fairness to her, she had no idea that I'd already locked lips with him a mere ten minutes ago. Embracing the Christmas spirit of giving, I was more than happy for her to carry on exchanging her DNA with him. Although, for some bizarre reason, they'd only kiss when I turned around. It was like a much more explicit version of peekaboo. 

The three of us ended  up getting a taxi home together, because we live near each other (not because we were about to reenact a disturbing scene from an American teen movie).  When the taxi arrived at mine, I'd just assumed that my sister had followed me out of the car. I definitely did not expect to see the taxi drive off down the road, with my sister still in it. After accepting that she wasn't coming home, I saw the taxi sharply brake. My sister suddenly swung open the taxi door and ran back towards the house, with her Snape-like coat billowing behind her.  It turns out that she'd gone to kiss the guy goodbye, and the taxi driver thought he'd help the guy out by taking my sister back to his. If taxi drivers had slogans, his would definitely involve the word 'ride'. 

Despite the fact that my sister and I shared too much, and that I became too close with nature, I had an excellent time back home. In a bizzare way, it’s comforting to know that not much changes. You’ll still end up in the same shit bar on a Saturday night. The bouncers will still call you trouble as you walk by them. You’ll bump into an old friend, and it’ll be like you’ve never been away; you’ll both still aggressively dad dance, and pull unattractive faces at each other.  Your parents will still greet you in the morning with a smug ‘good afternoon', just to highlight how lazy you are. Your Nan and Grandad will still come over for Sunday dinner, and you’ll still laugh inappropriately at their unintentional innuendos (it happens a lot when your Grandad plays bowls; the word ‘ball’ is said far too often).

It turns out that leaving home really does make going back home pretty great. Hopefully, next time I won't give people another opportunity to use my surname in a punderful way, and my sister and I will go back to only sharing clothes.