One million billionth of a millisecond on a saturday morning

Taking a taxi home on saturday or sunday morning wearing high heels, miniskirt and maskara down your cheaks is called the walk of shame. But the walk of shame doesn't really make me feel ashamed anymore. As long as I'm not on a bus and an old lady is sitting on a seat close by. She never seem to be able to look away from my ripped pantyhose, my messy hair and the poorly hidden cleevich. I'm trying the best I can to make her aware that there are sheeps to look at through the windows, but I have no luck. At least in a taxi it's just one person that lookes at you like a whore.

Yesterday I went out for a team dinner. I was ready to leave already before I got there and I was drunk before they came with the food. By the time they served the dessert and after dinner drinks I had planned my escape. I went to the loo. To get there I had to walk past a group of irish guys. One of them looked at me and came with the nineties-so-out-of-date-sleasy line; How'r you doing. In my hurry to get to the loo to litterally beat myself up I told him; Does it really matter. I was not in the mood for that just then. When that is said, I do actually have the tendency to be mean to guys I meet at bars. Normally I have fun with it. Im a fan of til the morning breaks go and make your mistakes.