It is story time once again my friends. I have opened the red book, have my fuzzy slippers and tea here ready to be curled up and tell this one to you. This was a few years ago in the hometown of Toronto, on the Toronto Island in fact. I went over on the ferry with one of my girlfriends to see old friends of hers, who I was told would be some girls and probably no attractive men. I guess I just felt like going out because that would usually deter me, but not this time.
We met her friend at the ferry, he was a guy she had wanted in high school but they were too young and naive to tell each other. He was also a ballerina. And not gay. If that weren’t enough, the end of the night would be. We went to a house filled with men. I was expecting girls, but apparently this was a sausage fest. None were attractive, that is until Bra came in. You’ll find out why he’s called Bra later.
Bra was beautiful. He had pretty terrible gangsta style but that face, the buzz cut, the bad boy sexyness with good grammar; it was like a temporary dream come true. As the night went on, I had made it pretty clear that I wanted him. We got pretty tipsy, wandered the Toronto Island, had some adventures and ended the night with a kiss. As my friend and I wandered back with our new evening boy toys, we realized we missed the last ferry. The night was not over. We drank a bit more, kissed a bit more, and wandered a bit more. I recall a teddy bear, abandoned house and a trailer park. Not sure how they fit in my memory but it doesn’t really matter. I went back to the ballerina’s house with my friend and Bra. We kissed and I let him cop a boob feel on the spare bed and fell asleep. (Finally a mostly harmless story!)
All was not well.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a gangsta literally flailing all limbs as if he was having a seizure. He then started saying “F-ing PANDA, crazy girl, F-ing…” I don’t even remember the rest. 1/3 of me was laughing, 1/3 of me was blocking the flailing arms from hitting my face, and the last 1/3 was thinking that I’d never fall asleep.
I left the room to call my girlfriend because I didn’t want to barge in on her if she had made it with the ballerina, which I later found out did not happen. I noticed that we were not alone. The house had PARENTS in it. I sat in the living room in the dark, calling time and time again waiting for an answer. Every so often I went back to the bed in the hopes that I could finally sleep. I got sleep slapped in the face.
I lay on the couch, but didn’t want parents to wake me up in the morning so being exhausted, I continued to call, finally getting an answer and waking her up. She came to my rescue and I shared the bed with them. Yes, I was like a child after a bad dream.
I told them the whole story, and they were quite amused, so I kept pushing and making fun in my semi-drunken-sleepy state. In the morning we caught the first ferry, headed home and I realized I had forgotten my bra at Bra’s house. There was no way I would go back to get it, especially since it was one of my older ones! The next day, after a terrible hangover and zoned out movie watching, I received a text. Let me tell you I got more after this and had to change my number.
“Brooke, we’re having a ceremony devoted to you. You are a bitch, and we’re having a campfire and burning your bra.”
I later found out from my friend via the ballerina, that this actually did happen…
Apparently you shouldn’t make fun of sleep slapping to the dude’s best friend, even if he is a ballerina.
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