My hero!

Well Friday night had its ups and downs. 

The up: one of the really cute identical Corporation twins was once again giving me the eye and a smile.

The down: With them being identical, I have no idea which one it was.

Ah well, sometimes all you can do is LOL. 

Gareth always claims that I am a rubbish 'wing-man', because - in his mind - 'chicks dig Michael (but then, these are the misguided views of a gent who also has previously claimed 'chicks dig accesories'.  'Chicks dig buttons', and my personal favourite, 'chicks dig moleskin trousers').  On the way to Claire and Tim's, we had a tete-a-tete about it (and the following dialogue is paraphrased, as a fair amount of alcohol has been drank since)

Gareth: "Oh well you don't have this problem with women, they all 'dig' you."

Michael: "No they don't, its a lie."

Gareth: "Yeah they do, you always pull in Corp."

Michael: "When? When? Name me one occasion when I have pulled . . . ever?"

Gareth: ". . . . . . . . . . . . that lass who bit you."
Michael: "No Gareth, that was me getting sexually assaulted, and all you lot did is point and laugh."

. . . I suppose I best now get everyone up to speed with that unfortunate encounter.  It happened a few months ago, obviously on a Friday, and obviously in Corporation, and obviously with the usual suspects of Claire, Tim, Gareth and myself.  Tim and Gareth had slinked off somewhere, either to the bar or the toilets, and I was stood talking to Claire.  With the music being pretty loud, we were stood fairly close together, and I imagine to most people we must have looked like a couple.

. . . . . . unfortunately, my assailant did not fall into the 'most people' category.

Unperturbed by my close proximity to another female, she strided up and interlocked fingers with me roughly, and forced me to sway to Feeder.  A bit startled, I asked her if I knew her (mainly because God fashioned me to look like everyone else in a crowd; average height, average build, common hair colour, common eye colour, no distinguishable features, 5/10 in the looks department) and with her being quite evidently drunk, I thought she had mistaken me for someone else.  However, she took this as a cue to introduce herself.

. . . this was going badly . . .

We spoke briefly (she told me that she hated Rupert Murdoch, which is always what you want to hear on a night out) and then it happened; she basically tried to climb down my windpipe whilst biting my lip at the same time.  Just to make the situation even worse, from over her shoulder I could see Tim, Claire and Gareth all having a rare old giggle at my expense.

There wasn't much I could do to get away without losing a chunk of my face, so I had to bide my time until she decided to have an interlude from her exploration of my oesophagus.  "Erm, I'm jus' going to the toilet," I mumbled, and fled to the sanctuary of some grotty tiolets with my green vodka in hand.  Never have I so welcomed the hybrid smell of sweat, sick and urine.

From there, I had no idea how to get away.  Corporation is in some of a horse-shoe shape; the bar, main exit and escape to the smoking area (and my molester) are all in the narrow bit, whilst it opens up into a large dance floor.  If I tried to escape to the smoking area, I would have been caught again, so my only choice was the dance floor.

It is here, evidently, where heroes are forged.

I ran into my dear companion Rachel, and gave her a brief overview of what happened, using a doll to point out places where I was touched and everything, and I said that I needed to get to the smoking area.  Between us, we hatched a plan; I removed my glasses and shirt, and she lead me to the smoking area.  Blindly and wearing just a vest (well, not just a vest, obviously) Rachel guided my bumbling form through the dance floor, passed my attacker, and out into the fresh air (or a very close approximation; it is in Sheffield.)

Rachel Innocent, when I was a damsel in distress in my darkest hour, you were my knight in shining armour.  Now carry me off into the sunset.

Me and my hero  . . . and Jade's awesome face!

And whilst we are on the subject of sex pests . . . are women's clothes shops specifically designed to make every male look like some form of pervertt? 

Where are males likely to gather in such an establishment?  I'd say outside the changing room in the imbecile chairs.

With that in mind, where should the women's underwear department be?  Erm . . . essentially, anywhere but outside the changing rooms where the males are likely to gather.

But no, sadly, this logical deduction does not happen, so there end up being a smattering of men uncomfortably shuffling their feet amonst a flock of frilly frenchies - I know, I was one of them whilst waiting for my sister to try on a formal dress, which instantly sounds even more sordid . . . . I'm innocent, damn you!

Right, I am done, and it is officially beans on toast time.  Thanks for reading ^_^