I’m greeted with paper hell. Paper is FUCKING everywhere. I can’t see my desk anymore, checks, invoices, emails, candy wrappers, plastic bags, etc. It looks like someone thought my desk was a trash can. How could a desk be mistaken for a trash can? It was the cherry on top of my fucked up melting sundae and they put cookie crumbs on top of my fucked up sundae. So, I’m going to go into anaphylactic shock while at work. Oh joy.
What could make a fucked up sundae day better? There are a few options. But the first answer that comes to my mind would be alcohol. It’s the universal cure and it just so happens to be the drinking holiday here in my historic city. For those of you who don’t live in Savannah, let me enlighten you. We have the second largest St.Patrick’s day parade in the country. But really it’s an excuse for locals and tourists to drink green beverages all week and weekend long.
My ensemble on this sacred day of green alcohol is: green corset, black skinny jeans, green sequin stilettos, and tons of beads to accessorize. I’m of course at my fav Irish pub, enjoying the live bagpipes. Yes, I’m being particularly festive this evening.
I’ve told my favorite bartender, it’s been a shitty week. He understands. He provided me with five “specialty” shots. These were the cure to my shitty week. Don’t ask me what was in them. I believed in him and shot them. Yes, they did improve my shitty week.
So, we’re all adults here. Y’all know what happens when it’s like the Lil John song, “Shots, Shots, Shots”. I got fucked up. In only thirty minutes. That’s a new record for me. Awesome bartender! Now, I am past fuzzy/tipsy. I’m drunk-edy drunk. But I’m a happy drunk. So all is well. I just a need a little companionship.
I spot a group of men in kilts and green. Now in my current state, I’m curious. What does one wear underneath a kilt? Is it commando? Is it boxers or briefs? Or oh my god, the dreaded tightly white-y.
I’m not in the mood to ask. So, I decided to do my own research. It’s one way to say hello. Just go up from behind, lift, and take a peek. Don’t worry I peeked under the kilt of the guy who was in the corner. So, if it was commando he wouldn’t flash the room. I decide to be kind. The answer to the kilt question was a surprise for me. WOW. I just found a NEW bestie.
He was taken back after I smoothed our introduction over, he introduced me to his friends. Oh, and by the way. I hit the jackpot. They’re all firefighters. Boom!
The night has progressed. He invites me back to his place. It’s bow-chick-a-wow-wow time!
I’ve got to go up stairs to get to his place. Tipsy woman in heels while holding green beverage going up stairs, I THINK not. So, piggy back ride by a drunken firefighter. It’s okay, he’s trained to carry people out of dangerous situations. What’s more dangerous then green sequin heels and stairs?
We are in his place. I didn’t really get a good chance to look around. We both had other priorities. He takes me into his room. He strips off the kilt and the luck of the Irish was with me! Quick description: 6’2, muscular, and fully inked and I do love me some ink. Yep, kiss me I’m Irish! Please!
He was a sprite-ly fellow. We enjoyed many pleasurable hours. It’s in the wee hours of the morning. Nature is calling. I make my way to the bathroom. I didn’t get a tour, but I managed to find it myself. Remember we were pre occupied when we came into his flat. I make my way back to the bedroom, and crawl into bed.
I’m cold, so I snuggle closer to him. He responds with a steaming kiss and wandering hands. I just LOVE hands that wander. Wander on my Irish firefighter. I go to sleep with him spooning me from behind. I wake up to him kissing my neck. I roll over to give him a proper good morning. My proper greeting is halted. Due to the face that’s smiling at me is NOT the face I piggy backed up the stairs with. The face next to me is as follows: clean cut, dark hair, pearly whites, and no ink in site. I’m a little befuddled at this point.
I ask him, what the fuck? He happily informs me, that he’s firefighter’s roomie and I got the doors mixed up. Oops. Ummm, I’m thinking what the fuck? Does he just have random women roll into his room all the time? That gives a whole new meaning to revolving door.
As I’m getting out of roomie’s bed, which by the way was cozy. He had matching pillowcases, no superman logo to be seen. He then tells me I should stay, so he can give me a refresher before breakfast. I think, WAIT A MINUTE I’m getting breakfast? Double score!
So, I do what any single woman would do. I take him up on his offer.
Tip to all my female readers: if the guy offers to go down, ride the tide ladies. After I enjoyed the last ride, he tells me I’m welcome to take a shower and where the towels are.
I hop in the shower. I’m recapping the evening and morning. Next thing I know there are wandering hands again. I recognize these inked hands. The firefighter has returned without his kilt. He’s at attention.
I ask “the the hell” I believe in sharing. I remember sharing is caring. But there is a fine line. So, I decide to share and sharing has its advantages…
I get dressed. I go out to the kitchen. He and roomie are making breakfast together.
They offer me a cup of the elixir of life and ask me if I like bacon? Bacon and coffee, DAMN they found my kryptonite. I stay and grace them with my presence a little longer.
After the green themed evening, we decided to see each other again. All three of us…
Quote from “Outlander“- Aye, lass the waiting is over.