When I say I remember Craig (the man who I met on Saturday night) I do. Sort of. It's all very hazy though. Very hazy.
I’m not even sure how I ended up talking to Craig let alone how I ended up snogging him. Yes, that's right, I kissed a boy on Saturday night. Well, a man. The reason why I don't remember the finer details of our bout of tonsil-hockey is because I was far too busy being an advertisement for the dangers of binge drinking. Oh yes, I am a classy girl. If I'm being totally honest, I don’t even remember much of what Craig and I talked about. In fact, my first memory of him is when Nicola came up to us on the dance floor mid-snog, tapped me on the shoulder and asked:
“Are you OK mate?”
Er, yeah. I think?
This is terrible but even if I really concentrate now I can’t really remember what he looks like. He definitely has short hair, I know that much. I think it was blonde or sandy. I’m pretty convinced that Craig is taller than me and had some quite good muscles going on under his sleeves. This must be true, as even the drunk me wouldn’t forget a detail as important as that. I’ve half convinced myself that he looks a bit like Brian O’Driscoll who captains the Ireland rugby union team, which is not a bad thing if it’s true. Not a bad thing at all.
What I do know is that we swapped numbers at some point during our dance floor snogathon, as at 10am on Sunday morning I was woken from my pool of drool on the couch by my phone pinging with an incoming text message:
Craig:
Good morning and how’s you today?
Blimey 10am? I was really pleased to hear from him and I must still have something going for me after all, but at 10am after a night out I am barely alive. I can’t drink like I used to. Well, I can drink like I used to, but now it takes me a couple of days to recover from the alcohol abuse as opposed to a couple of hours’ worth of drunken sleep.
Craig and I have been playing text message ping pong during the past couple of days, and he even asked me if we could meet up on Sunday morning before I went back home. Er NO! Not the way I looked! The vamped up sexy look I was working on Saturday night was replaced the morning after with a washed out version of Marilyn Manson, complete with darkened bags under my bleary eyes which resembled two piss holes in the snow. Attractive is not the word. It was sweet of him to ask though.
However...
I replied to his message and said that sadly I wouldn’t have time to meet up, but that it would be good to go out for a drink the next time I go over to Preston… to which he said definitely yes! Whether that will ever happen I have no idea (I very much doubt it) but I will see.
As a result of our text conversation yesterday and today I’ve found out quite a few things about him:
1. He is called Craig.
2. He works with his Dad for the family painting and decorating business.
3. He is twenty-five.
4. He supports Preston North End football team.
5. He doesn’t like rugby (boo).
6. He loves motor sport (zzzzz).
And that’s about it. I’ve been wracking my brains and been trying to force myself to remember what he looks like, but all I get is the occasional glimpse of his face like in a snapshot. My friend Nicola tried to take some photos of him for me, but the flash didn’t go off in the first one and in the second all I can see is the back of his head. The only thing I can determine from this is that he’s not going bald, and he was wearing a charcoal grey jumper with a shirt underneath and some jeans. Which looks good from behind.
Still, I’m glad that I’ve got my first kiss as a single girl out of the way though but I just wish I could remember more about it. I know that looks wise I’ve got the thumbs up for Craig from Nicola, but knowing how kissing men whilst drunk has worked out for me before I’m not holding a great amount of hope that Craig is any better than any of them.
I’m just going to see how it goes... Watch this space...
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