Blast From The Past!

Hello there, 


Sushi. Is. Life. After the past year maybe of eating shop faux Sushi made from a combination of chicken and seafood, I have finally made the leap to a mainstream sushi bar. Yo! Sushi in Milton Keynes is I am sure probably farthest from genuine and authentic and Asian or Japanese influenced cuisine, however without the luxury of the big smoke to indulge my curiosities in I was forced to seek out as close to the real thing as I can get my little mitts on, Cali-rolls and Spice-Tuna-Things for the win! 

To say that I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Miss Tweedle-Dee and it was good to try new things whilst doing my favourite thing with my wages and in my preferred method or socialising, eating out. I am not quite sure what made me feel so good about sushi and hanging out with my best friend - Maybe it was the delight of combining my two favourite things or maybe it was the fact that I was feeling much better in myself. A a good catch up and long chat about anything and everything life had to offer us at the moment was certainly what I needed. Whilst my counselling and therapy has stopped for the short time whilst I am between therapists and Private Vs. NHS, I am taking my medication which seems to be doing it's job. 

Not long before we finished our meal and headed home I approach the subject that I had been wanting to bring up for a while. I felt as though my Tweedles were about the only people I could talk openly and honestly about how I felt without being judged or criticised. Not even Mr. Warehouse would understand I think?! You see waaay back in the days of short pleated school skirts and thick black eyeliner, there was one of the first Mr's in my life. Mr. Woof. Now let me introduce Mr. Woof to you all, (unless you have been reading along since the beginning and then you will already know who Mr. Woof well and truly is from the Viewer Discretion / NSFW earlier days of writing). 

Mr. Woof and I had been friends since meeting in the second year of High School and pretty much as soon as we met our liaisons began. In class and the playground, Mr. Woof was quite shy when it came to being in 'public' as it were with me, even being seen around each other was a no-no, but away from it all and what I used to refer to as the "spotlight" he was a completely different person, almost caring or even loving in a way, something that was never shown when around others. As we got older the intensity was stepped up with more secret meets at lunch and break, soon progressing to after school and even into our Saturday morning GCSE revision classes. But the more we played with each other, both metaphorically and emotionally the more I suffered. The double life we both lead between not talking to each other and almost bullying each other whilst in the company of friends and others was a stark comparison to the electricity we shared alone. But I knew what I was doing, course I did, any sixteen year old does. It was fun and I enjoyed the secrecy of it all. The secret little affair with the boy who I had a stupidly major crush on for ages and who was dating one of my closest school friends. Yeah, I definitely thought I knew it all (and probably still do) thinking that it will all be so different when we leave High School and go to Sixth Form or College, we can finally be together! Haha what a fool ... 

After school ended we went our separate ways, developed as people and went into study. I went on to have several partners, settling down with a few serious ones who loved me no matter the company we were in. Whereas Mr. Woof attempted university, dropped out only to discovered drink and drugs all the while continuing to think that his rock band would become the next big thing. Over the years he turned into something of a misogynistic womaniser and was well known for being a Harlequin around town. Nevertheless though Mr. Woof made an appearance throughout my love-life, weather I was with someone or not, however it must be noted that none of my ex-partners ever took a liking to him and we were always strictly friends when I was in a relationship as being faithful has always been something I fiercely uphold after some hiccups in my earlier years of teenage-living and my fathers betrayal. 

Mr. Woof and I had lost contact for a while after Mr. Workaholic had banned me from communicating with him, but got back in touch a few months after we split. It started as it always had and at that moment the friendly voice of someone familiar was just what I craved. At the time I was amidst a messy break-up Miss Tweedle-Dee handed me the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. I. Was. Hooked. I couldn't put them down, like everyone I suppose. I decided then to embark on something of my own contract. We had come a long way from my Teenage Dreams Days and so after getting back in contact, Mr. Woof and I began another momentary lapse of loosing our inhibitions and giving into our lustfulness for something we knew so well. Only this time I had some level of control. I had just come out of a long term relationship and wanted something intimate, exciting and confidence boosting. Something NSA to make me smile and brighten up my otherwise gloomy days. I suppose in a sense he was the rebound?! When I talk about it like that it seems as though Mr. Woof was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend who was dealing with heartbreak. But I was as much to blame in that as he was. I wanted and needed attention.  I was lacking it both in my job as well as socially as friends and family who lived far from my door. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted and we weren't hurting anyone. 

After sometime however the novelty soon wore off and we again drifted apart, not through Malice or animosity but simply due to life moving off. Over the next few years of difficult dating dilemmas and finally finding someone I really care about I will be honest and say that I thought about Mr Woof less and less. Until that is the other day when I stumbled across an old social media page. I had seen his profile picture and was intrigued to see what he was up to and we had both changed. I knew that he had got married and settle down with some plain-Jane type. I was certainly not prepared for what was to come. 

Clicking the pages on his social media I discovered that not only had he propose and dedicated his life in marriage, but that he now had a child. Knocking me sideways I was taken aback. I don't know, it is not that I am jealous of his wife and young family, far from it and if anything I am glad that he has found his calling in life as a Dad. Maybe it was the fact that in all of our time together, on or off, we had never discussed marriage or kids, even if the intention was not each other. Then again he is a man and they do not tend to discuss marriage for kids as women do. It is just a little surreal for me to think that someone I thought would never even get married or settle down with anyone is now a father and husband. Oh how things change I suppose. 

It has been playing on my mind a lot over the last few days since finding out last week and I just can't put my finger on it. But as I explained in depth and detail, more than I have here to you, Miss Tweedle-Dee looked at me with a strange expression played across her face as the sushi Carousel continue unknowingly. She didn't need to tell me twice that I was sounding weird and creepy. I came away from our short and brief conversation about Mr. Woof and his family with a heaviness in my heart knowing that time is inevitably ticking along and will soon catch up with me if I am not careful and seeing someone I knew happy makes me feel a little weird about adulting now in the real world. Ahhh someone take me back to the simpler days of Emo bands, short pleated school skirts and thick black eyeliner! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Flipping Me Off!

Hiya, 

Outfits ready and bodies primped and preened, Mr. Warehouse and I were ready for our close-up. Today was the day of Mr. Warehouse's Valentines present ... A couples photo-shoot. Arriving slightly early, we drove up the long and winding private road to the big country home and adjacent log cabin studio. Its was obvious that Mommy and Daddy bought the place and that she still lived at home and had probably rarely left home, only for wonderful long distance holidays and maybe Uni all paid for by the fat that she possibly paid little or no rent. Nevertheless with the fields and countryside surrounding the home, a tree house, swing and an area for campfires I was more than looking forward to the shots and what the possibilities could be for the final viewing. 

Now I must say that I never really gelled with our photographer on this occasion as much as I had with the Guy who did the photo shoot for the Dog which we won back in November following a chance entry whilst in our local Pets At Home. He was funny and made us feel so welcome and happy to share our lives and open up to him and his lens. He got on brilliantly with our pooch and really seemed to understand us, which was something I hoped had and would come from our valentines shoot. 

In a way I kind of wished that I had booked it before we went on holiday or for a day that wasn't so overcast or cold, for maybe they would look better (This is me speculating of course, they may already be beautiful) and at least I would look thinner from all the classes and swimming I ave been doing now Pooch doesn't have to go to the Vets every other day. 

Alas as half way through and after many an outfit change, Mr. Warehouse and I were told it was "time to show some more affection" which, as if the situation wasn't cringe enough, just made the whole thing just that little bit worse. Posing together felt awkward and at times painful, both metaphorically and physically with odd positions and strange moves. Now I am not saying by any stretch of the imagination that Mr. Warehouse and I have the perfect relationship, however I know for a fact that we are affectionate towards one another. I cuddle him and he cuddles me and we comfort each other when we have had a bad day. Like Pancake (Shrove) Tuesday!

Coming home from work I was exhausted, it had been a long day and one where I was glad it was over. Feeling slightly on the edge as it goes I refused to let life get the better of me and took to making the healthy banana pancake batter I had been researching all day and spending my lunch-break watching videos of how to make them. Batter made and pan hot with oil, I started the melt-down process that would ensue. First two went OK. then the third just flopped like a dead battery at an Ann Summers party. As I went to flip it the pancake, batter still wet and not fully cooked yet, split. Hoping to try and rectify it I counter-acted the manoeuvre by approaching it from the other side, not helping the situation in the slightest. After several more attempts I threw the frying pan down, tipped away the by now char-grilled and mushy mess and proceeded to the front room for reflection. 

It was at this point that Mr. Warehouse makes the point that I have not followed the recipe exactly to the letter and the reason for my inability to make healthy pancakes is because I did not weigh everything and follow the instructions given. So, refusing to be beaten by a mixture that calls itself not only Yorkshire pudding mix but also for making Pancakes, I returned to the kitchen. This time I was encouraged by Mr. Warehouse, following every gram and millilitre by the book. And yet again the same thing happened. Tormented by the smoking frying pan I went into full blown Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode. For those of you that don't know what Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode is, its where you have so much of a break-down in yourself as a human being you slowly cry yourself onto the floor of the kitchen, snot and tears coagulating mess in your airways making you sound like a toddler who has just been told Peppa Pig time is over. 

In true teenager fashion I huffed back to the front room and with everything finally coming to a head, I began to cry. And yes it was all because of some Instrgram, Protein-shake-fucked, clean-eating healthy bollocking banana pancakes. Felling silly I felt the familiar cuddle of Mr. Warehouse's arms encapsulate me. Soft words of non-wisdom came next like "Its OK not everyone can make pancakes" and other one liners such as "It was the frying pan, its not a good one". Whilst sobbing subsided I could see through blurred, teary vision that my beautiful, wonderful Mr. Ware was desperately trying to look for any restaurants within a ten-mile radius that would sell pancakes. I needed IHOP but all England has is, well, nothing. With all other options exhausted Mr. Warehouse and I headed to Tesco in order to find some battery goodness. None was to be found though as everyone else obviously had the same idea and just bought there is instead of trying to be Pintrest-Pricks. So I settled for Waffles instead. 

But that is what affection and love is. Supporting someone through a shitty time, even if it is over a few bananas mashed in with rolled oats and an egg. Its about searching the whole fucking county for pancake-houses and dessert places that will deliver since Bedford has yet to hop on the whole Deliveroo band-wagon. Caring is saying 'I'm sure It'll look OK in the photos' when in reality you know we will both end up just skipping through them all like the last time, hating the way we looked.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Spreading My Wings

Morning one and all, 

So the past couple of weeks have been hectic and in all honesty I know that the next few up until I leave for the States are going to be even more-so. But as life passes by in a haze, blurring one day into the next and weeks into months I wonder to myself when I have a moment from the manic madness that surrounds my desk and wonder what I want from life. 

Consulting my head I know that my long-term prospects are to find a man, settle down, move in, get a dog, get engaged, become someones wife and bear children then spend the next eighteen-plus years of my life occupied by baby vomit, what Sarah said at the school gates last Friday and why Dairylea Triangles only come in packs of six. And that is all whilst trying to hold down a job, house, bills and keep my husband relatively happy with the weekly blowjob, despite me having to wait ages for him to return the favour. Ahh yes, how I cannot wait for life to start with me being the head of my family. 

But something has struck me the past few months, and that is the fact that I am twenty-three. I still have lots and lots and lots (and lots more) living to do before that happens. Your twenties are meant to be the throwaway years. The ones that you spend travelling through Cambodia with some random hippie called 'Russell' whom of which you have a passionate love-life despite it not being a permanent fixture. The years you spend drinking away your hard-earned cash and sleeping with less than affluent village idiots where you have a better relationship with your duvet than with your mom or dad. 

Yes, I have thought for a long time about what I want out of life and what with being twenty-six days and counting into the New Year there is no time like the present to make some changes in order to better myself, my horizons, love-life and experiences making me an all-round better person and someone who will be able to grow some more delectable tales to tell. When I finally put down the bottle of Sambuca and turn off the disco lights in my late twenties I want to be prepared with stories of the years when I was acting-adult. I want to have dinner parties with new friends and go to mother and baby groups where we can chat about all sorts of life lessons and anecdotes that would help us through the sleepless nights and mash-throwing contests of our children. 

While Mr. Cheese was not the best kind of person in all regards, least his bedroom ability to keep up with my libido, he did awaken a fire within me to get out into the world and see things. When Ghana-gate was first announced I always thought I would like the idea of just going somewhere for several months and travelling, working, learning and having fun all at the same time. Maybe I would make some new friends or even meet that all-illusive 'The One'. Africa. Asia. Australia. The Americas. All are so rich with sites and scenery I am struggling which to do and where to go. Mr. Warehouse? I don't think or even know if he is the travelling type. He is such a home-bird I think it would be too much to fly away for months at a time with no sense of where we are going and what we are doing. I don't honestly think he is cut out for it, let alone us as a couple?! Besides I think I would enjoy it more and I may get more out of it if I was on my own. Anyway, you can only fit one person on an elephant at once!

I have however settled with this year exploring a little closer to home. Europe will be my big hitter this year and I may consider taking a good two weeks in order to go travelling around it, accompanied by as many weekends away as I can cram in. Denmark, Switzerland, France, Italy, Poland and Austria are all top of my list including fascinating cities like Prague, Budapest, Berlin and others slightly closer to home like Dublin, Belfast and Edinburgh. I would like to say that every bank holiday apart from the end of May (being Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday which I would be crazy to miss) and Christmas/New Years I would like to get away somewhere. Although with the first Bank Holiday of the Year looming just a fortnight after flying back from Las Vegas I will have little time to hatch a plan of action. I was thinking of maybe even packing a bag and heading straight to the airport to pick up a cheap flight anywhere and just going for a mad spontaneous binge getaway. 

However in order to do this I must take action. I must be proactive in my search for adventure with the view to seek out fun and delve into the unknown. You see, after Mr. Workaholic left I was completely empty. I had no purpose in life and nothing to get up for in the morning but to go to work, with the odd occasion of escaping wretched Northampton to come back home and get drunk with friends just to take the pain away from the heartbreak. Slowly I have come round to the idea that I need to explore, not only myself but others and new things. I feel that I am now, partly because of Mr. Workaholic, that I am a commitment-phobe, megalomaniac who gets bored very easily. 

Maybe this is another one of my Quarterly-Life-Crisis', but of late my toes have been chillier than ever, although they are now starting to thaw out after someone surprised me with just some simple affections and kind gestures. Sometimes you can be so wrapped up in something or an idea about what you want to do, that you loose sight of just how good you have got it. Things in my head recently have become clouded and as a result I have felt trapped and in need of escape, which probably explains the thoughts of travelling and exploration I have day-dreamt about at my desk. There is only one way out from the situation I find myself, and I know, from experience, it will not be pretty or easy but it is something that may well have to be done. When or even if is another kettle of Koi Carp. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Compromising Position And The Unavoidable Question!

Evening All, 

So following events from last week after my best friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle Dumb, met the rather shy Mr. Warehouse I wondered what the next steps in the rather rapidly moving romance would be. One thing I never expected though was for my midweek dinner with my father to be such a hostile and fiery affair when it came to talking about my love-life. 

Daddy picked me up from work just after I finished, meaning I only had a few fleeting moments of stolen kisses and secret cuddles in the canteen with Mr. Warehouse before I saw his silver jeep purr into the car-park. Braving the cold winter air and hopping into the warmth of my Papa's car I looked forward to a good chin wag, even if it was an excuse for him just to kill time before a pre-arranged meeting. Sitting at the table ready to order I knew I wanted something meaty and saucy. Chicken and Rib Combo it was then! You see my friend, I am not one of these ladies (Dare I call myself that!) whose diet consists of skinny soya latte's with the possibility of a salad minus the caesar dressing. Yes, I am that girl. That girl who enjoys a mighty rack - of ribs. I adore a rare steak and need my meat to still have a heartbeat its that blue. You cant beat the feeling you get when your teeth sink into the cooked flesh and chew, swallowing all the meaty juices and don't even get me started on how amazing it is to have a right old naw on a set of ribs. Sometimes I wonder if I was a Lioness in a previous life, hunting antelope and getting a food-high on Zebra ass. Gosh I have just had dinner and now I am hungry again!

Anyway food was ordered and said food arrived but it wasn't until the dessert menu was cracked out that Dad really let loose. Parents are strange you see. Even as a girl in her early-twenties I still need my Dad and want to be around him and spend more time with him than I currently do. Although I appreciate him, his Girlfriend, work, extended family and voluntary work usually stand in the way though and so I have to be made happy with these fleeting post work gap-fillers. I get that he is busy and all with his own life, but that just makes it even more odd that he would act in such a begrudging way. And so, in between silly jokes and mocking comments about flaws that aren't really all that important there was some serious statements made. Comments like "If he hurts you there will be hell to pay" and "I hope he isn't using you because if he is then god so help me I will rip his balls off" followed in a wave of both interrogation style quick-fire questions and meaningful comments of somewhat intent. I understood though that by the comments my Daddy dear was making such as "I don't want to see you get hurt and cry any more" had a dual meaning. To me, as I sat across from my Old Man, I heard "I don't want to be picking up the pieces this time when it all goes wrong". And I understand his concerns. I myself am regularly transported back to one of the darkest moments in my life, The moment Mr. Workaholic left me. 

Desperate to change the tune, conversation turned to plans for Christmas and New Years. Being Mid-November already and with no-one having an actual plan to go with I became anxious for my own fate at Christmas. Would I be doomed to spend it alone - Opening pressies 'To me, from me' whilst wearing my pyjamas and eating copious amounts of chocolate Santa's and Cheese Footballs consequently ending the day by drinking far too much Port and watching back-to-back films and feeling sorry for myself for being a loner!? Or will I be forced to spend yet another Christmas with family members I don't wholly know, recognise or really give any care about given the fact I hardly ever see them. In all honesty though I think if I drove, Christmas morning alone wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I can have a lye in, get up and do what I wanna do, drink coffee in my Xmas panties and dance around my flat with my tits out to Slade. Either way I am hoping it will be entertaining and fun-filled. Maybe this year I will have someone to kiss underneath the mistletoe!? 

Now Siri is a wonderful thing. it can help you find out things just by speaking to your mobile phone. So whether it is and enquiry into the forecast for the next few days or to Google 'How long an elephant is pregnant for?' - of which the answer is twenty-four-months, Siri knows the answers. However there is one thing she does not know. And that is whether someone will commit or not. As I flicked through the channels I noticed Mr. Warehouse talking to Siri. He had asked a multitude of questions including "When will she be mine?", "Am I good enough for her?" and "When do I ask her out?" to no avail as the answers were null and voided. Laughing to myself as he was told off by Siri due to the foul language of the next sentence out of his mouth, I mouthed some dangerous words. And as little giggles and flirts turned into full on Petting Season at the Zoo I made a move I probably shouldn't have. Now I know (As usual) I am beating around the bush but after a good half-hour of skirting around the issue, I was now in a very compromising position, straddled on my bright orange couch, when I was asked a question I shall never forget the context of. As my lover panted his way to the finish line, one simple question was whispered in my ear. 
"Will you be my girlfriend?" Mr. Warehouse groaned, banishing all memoirs of the same phrase being used in the playground in high school. I responded the only way a lady should and that was with an almighty powerful 'Yes' leaving us both lost for words and out of breath. Truly the most memorable way I think I have ever been asked out and something I am looking back at right now as I write to you all with a grin on my face as wide as moon shining through my window. 

With work colleagues have already jokingly asking when will be the best time to buy a hat for the wedding, I don't think it will come as a big shock to those who I work with. Maybe the circumstances, but definitely not the shift ion relationship status. Its strange to think that Mr. Warehouse and I have only known each other for four-and-a-half months, and only really started seeing each other properly since I turned the ripe old age of twenty-three back in September. Somehow it feels like we have known one another for an eternity. And although now we are metaphorically, physically and sexually in a relationship, mentally I am still trying to get my head around it. You see for someone that has been so brutally scorched in the past I still find it difficult to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment. I am getting better and find myself now casually daydreaming about the future and what it might hold for Mr. Warehouse and I. Optimistic I am, however anxious that I have yet to have a wild party weekend in Ibiza or a Summer travelling round somewhere exotic. So whilst I have finally jumped and taken the big step to be in a committed relationship with someone like Mr. Warehouse I will stay true to myself, my friends, my family and most of all The Tweedles, for I am only twenty-three and there is so much more to life than just living!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

An All American Adventure!

Howdy Ya'll, 

OK so maybe not my normal introduction but I am feeling so spiffingly Stateside I might have to run down to Budgens and buy me some Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and have myself a Party in the USA! Yep that's right, today the ball was set in motion and the count down can now begin officially to my once in a lifetime opportunity trip with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb to fabulous Las Vegas! But this weekend wasn't all about stars and stripes, oh no, I had something bigger than Kim Kardashian's arse to contend with this weekend for it was time that said Tweedles met my thing-that's-not-a-thing ... Mr. Warehouse!

The subject came up in conversation after trying in vain all of last weekend to speak with Miss Tweedle-Dumb on the phone. After discussing a recent planned Mini-break to Berlin to visit kitsch German Christmas Markets with her boyfriend and with my envy growing at how I do not have access to such a luxury as the single life permits Bachelors to a lonely life of  misery whereby trips alone are frowned upon even by hotels - See any hotel ruling about single occupancy! Frowned upon I say! Nevertheless conversation soon lead to Mr. Warehouse and oddly I came across all coy. Now I like a good air of mystery about myself which I know for a fact I do not have as I am so god damn open about everything (I mean come on I have been spilling my life out to you every week for the last year) but strangely I quite liked Mr. Warehouse being my naughty, sordid little work-related secret. But you know since were fucking I may as well introduce him to the two people in my life that are most important to me. Ma Mama et Papa, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb!
"So. When are we going to meet him?" I was bluntly asked as I evasively avoided the questions about whether or not I was satisfied and if this satisfaction met or exceeded what I had from Mr. Cheese (Because lets be honest I don't think it would fall much beneath it?). I gave a vague idea as to sometime, maybe, possibly, if-everybody-wants-to meeting up for drinks over the weekend. With my best friend appeased and after touching on some scary gossip we ended our call. A date had been set. A time had been allocated. Four days, nineteen hours to go in counting!

Choosing a classy cocktail bar in the middle of town I thought I had picked well until that is it Saturday arrived and with it the rain. With Miss Tweedle-Dee feeling not up to it much and myself very much under the weather indeed I reluctantly but gladly changed the venue to my cosy apartment where we would sip on Rose and home-made cocktails, maybe even a cheeky Hot Chocolate with all the trimmings whilst watching the fireworks across the rooftops of Bedford from my huge skylight. Mr. Warehouse standing behind me holding my waist tightly as my best friends looked on in wonder if this was the one I had been waiting for. This however was as far from reality I think you probably could have got. I don't think even I could have predicted how entertaining and loose the evening would become and not a cocktail pineapple stick in sight!

With my girls slumped into my beloved orange couch, Miss Tweedle-Dee looking into flights to Las Vegas and Miss Tweedle-Dumb sorting out the equally important catering for the evening I suddenly got very, very nervous. Pacing the lounge I made it seem like I was nesting but I think my friends could tell I was anxious about both the arrival of Domino's and Mr. Warehouse. A few moments passed and in between British Airways hold music and discussions about meatballs (non-sexual I might add) I had a phone call. Unknown number it could only mean one thing. Pizza was here! But then I had another call - Mr. Warehouse! He was also here and as I skipped down the stairs after my Tweedles my excitement grew. Halting abruptly at the bottom of the staircase I was thrust a fist full of notes and pushed out to the poor delivery boy. 

As I opened my front door I noticed not only the bearer of feast for the evening but also a cool cucumber leaning against the Victorian brickwork of my flat's exterior. Like something straight out of 1955 dressed in denim jeans, hair a mess and a leather-esk jacket on I half imagined myself as Sandy from Grease, complete with Frenchy and Rizzo by my side. Noticing the 'Good-boy-jumper' he always wore when trying to impress me I remembered that I had guests and that since Mr. Warehouse was not my boyfriend I should not pounce on him, ravishing his lips like a horny school girl. Instead after helping Miss Tweedle-Dee for her newly acquired car keys (She recently passed her driving test last week - Well done!) I introduced him to the family. Noticing that both parties were nervous of the other ones company I proceeded to get everyone indoors and warmed up. Winter was setting in and I wasn't about to spend my Saturday Night outside when there was steaming hot takeaway on my porch table! 

With no care for dinner tables or cutlery we all dug into slices and took to establishing small talk before the conversation dried up. In a panic with what we should do or talk about Miss Tweedle-Dumb came up with a good idea of playing Cards Against Humanity to help break the ice a little. Now I don't know whether my friends were just being nice to him or if they genuinely found his answers regarding dead parents and pixalated bukkake funny but one thing is for sure and that is Mr. Warehouse has both a sickeningly good sense of humour but also a limited knowledge of all things pornographic. And so the evening ensued with a game, or five, of Cards Against Humanity whereby in-between searches on Urban Dictionary and even more glasses of wine we all ended up getting more and more comfortable with each other. And with strict instructions not to kiss me, fondle me, woo me or indeed grope me, Mr. Warehouse was doing very well considering I was now, for some odd reason, dressed in my Snow White costume (Minus the wig but with the addition of eight-inch stripper heels). I recall it was as a prize for the winner of Cards Against Humanity the person would be awarded the prize of making me do anything I asked of them. I suppose looking back on it Miss Tweedle-Dumb could have always thought outside the box with something a little more extravagantly X-rated! 

With the night slowly subduing, all four of us retired to my bedroom for a bit of a calm-down. As my friends continued in their laughter and giggles, going through weird dreams I used to have and old diary entries from a angst-ridden teenage moi, I saw in their eyes something different. Something I had never seen in them before around someone I was currently seeing. They were relaxed. At ease in Mr. Warehouse's company they thought nothing of raiding my sex-draw like crazed bears (On the hunt for what can only be described as 'My Purple Dinosaur') and stomping around my flat with the Snow White wig on like a dodgy Cher lookalike. Never before had I ever seen either of my Tweedles, My very best friends in the whole entire universe, act this way around a boy they had just met that was boning their BFF. I asked Miss Tweedle-Dumb why this was later on in the evening after Mr. Warehouse had left, enquiring as to if she liked him or not. 
"He is not a snob" Miss Tweedle-Dumb started with, adding that he "is not like all the other pompous rich arseholes you dated in the past. This one is different. He is common, and I like that".

Finally snuggled up in bed, the faint snores from Miss Tweedle-Dee in the other room as I spooned Miss Tweedle-Dumb, I thought about the evening that had just deceased. A few stolen kisses in the kitchen and when the Tweedle's were not paying attention were now not enough. I needed more. But as I reflect now on my weekend as it happened I know now what I was missing. Affection. The simplicity of having someone that wants to peck and smooch and kiss and snuggle and cuddle and nuzzle and shower you with love every waking moment until you are back in their arms asleep on their chest. I had missed that. I knew with Mr. Cheese that it was missing and for some strange reason I put up with it for so long, pretending to myself that it was OK and I would just learn to live with it. And yet I forgot how blissful it is to have it - Even if it does make you sick! 

What won't make me sick though is the amount of American food I will be consuming in Las Vegas and from now until the moment I step off that plane in the middle of the Nevada desert I shall be dreaming about eating all manner of wondrously lavish concoctions; Pancakes and Bacon, Open-All-Hours Starbucks, Captain Crunch, Donuts, Burgers, Fries and all the peanut butter flavoured shit you can think of. Book me Harley Street, I'm gonna need  gastric band when I come back!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx