Vaginal spasams? Madam, go...
I was out last night and I'm sure I caught something perfectly filthy from the crowd of reprobabtes that were also out. I don't feel well. It hurts to swallow and only for the paramours willingness to get up at half five in the morning and find painkillers while still asleep, I wouldn't have surfaced at all today. But I am here, what a little trouper I am. And it is Friday, I refuse point blank to be ill on a Friday.
It is very strange the things folk will talk about to absolute strangers. Last night a delightful woman told me about her trip around Europe and the fun time she had letting off illegal fireworks in Cork. I -and my third rum-found her most entertaining.
But then an artist French Gay is considering entered the frey and next bloody thing you know she's talking about vaginal spasams ( more common than the meedja would have us believe apparently)
I mean the conversation had drifted along with art, Pollock, Kadinski, The Hours, Barbara Streisland, Jools Holland, wolves, Chanel, African bag sellers, bitches, Modigliani, ex lovers, death, Jade Goody's autobiography, Anna wintour, Cork fireworks.
Vaginal spasams. Or rather, 'I suffer from vaginal spasams you know.'
'Really? How...er, awful for you.'
I can tell you nothing killed the mood quicker. I had to have another rum to recover.
What is the strangest thing a complete stranger has ever said to you?