If you've read my blog before, you will probably be really excited to read the latest installment in 'The Adventures of Miss Mop'. (Miss Mop is the nickname I've given to my invariably insane friend in order to hide her identity.) She knows who she is... Let's just hope her various boyfriends never find out.
Mop's adventures are extraordinary, really. You may remember the time she pissed herself on her boyfriend's carpet. Or the time she broke into his house and set off the alarm. Or the time she got so drunk on a visit to Edinburgh that I had to put her to bed in order to save myself from her explicit vitriol. All good fun.
Since she's such an interesting specimen, I thought the second post of this year should definitely be dedicated to catching up with her recent exploits.
I saw Mop while I was at home over Christmas. She was supposed to come to Edinburgh to visit me, but just before that was struck down with a case of Appendicitis and rendered unavailable at the last minute. Fair enough. On my return to the Fylde Coast about a week later I arranged to meet Mop for dinner. Having recently passed her driving test, she insisted on taking to the wheel.
"Are you sure you're OK to drive?" I asked. "You've had quite a serious operation."
"I'm absolutely fine," she said, "honestly. It's not a problem."
So that evening I boarded her vehicle and away we went to our local Chinese restaurant.
What happened next shows Mop to be the absolute nut-case I always knew she was.
The snow on Christmas Eve had been trampled, compacted, frozen and hardened, making the pavements of Fleetwood Lancashire resemble a shabby Madison Square Garden. Imagine my incredulity then, when Mop clambers out of her vehicle (having just had an operation) wearing six inch heels.
Imagine further my horror once she started moving...
"Absolutely fine," she says.
ABSOLUTELY FINE?! The woman couldn't stand up! She was bent over double like Quasimodo on his period, trying desperately not to fall down on the ice and die. What an absolute idiot.
Time of the month.
Though I don't quite know how we managed it, we got through a lovely dinner without any emergencies and afterwards Mop dropped me at the pub, refusing to come in for a drink since she was in so much pain. Again, fair enough.
The next day, however, Mop phoned me to tell me a little gossip. "How could she have gossip," I hear you cry, "She went home in tortuous agony!"
Well, turns out that having dropped me off at the pub she got a call from a friend inviting her to a party that she actually saw fit to go to. I was slightly offended, of course, but that's not the point. Whilst there she bumped into the (now ex) boyfriend referred to in earlier posts. Having woken up in his bed on Christmas day last year, this year she somehow managed to muscle her way back in for a repeat performance. What spiced it up a little for round two, of course, was the fact that she was in extreme pain and had a weeping wound on her torso to prove it.
I have no idea how she does it, but if a pre-menstrual Quasimodo with a near-constant flinch on her face can get laid then there has to be hope for the rest of us! Well done, Mop, and thank you.
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