You’re not going to believe this. Or maybe you will.
It’s Saturday evening. I’m done watching Small Bum play a hockey match (what a dutiful girlfriend I am), and everyone is congregating at his place for drinking games. Except. My totty is on fire.
It’s entirely up to you whether you choose to read this. So any ‘thanks for sharing’ comments will not be tolerated.
My cookie is on fire. I have urinary cystitis. A bladder infection.
It’s like peeing needles, and the whole problem is that you feel like you need to pee all the time. I think having thrush would be a breeze in comparison to this.
I spent a good portion of the weekend not knowing whether I have to in fact pee, or if my cookie is playing tricks with me. And screaming on the toilet either way. Passing razorblades is no picnic trust me. On Saturday, I felt as though I was squatting in a pool of hydrochloric acid. It was fucking uncomfortable to say the least.
So, during the aforementioned drinking game, where copious tots were shared and everyone including myself was becoming increasingly malaid, I would add a fair amount of citro soda to my drink to stop the burn downstairs. It worked.
For soon, I felt nothing. Literally. The burn was the last thing on my mind, which I subsequently lost. Suddenly I was taken from being seated around a table to the next morning wondering how I landed in Small Bum’s bed.
It fucking happened again.
For the second time in my life, I experienced such mind blowing memory loss, I am scared out of my wits. In the space of two weeks. Luckily I wasn’t screaming and crying on the street outside the Jolly Roger. I was in bed for the most part.
But get this: apparently we had sex.
And I came three times. Three times. Think about that for a second. I also groaned appreciatively, and spoke coherently all the way through.
Wish I had been there. It sounded hot. I don’t. Remember. A Thing. Small Bum was horrifically appalled the next morning when he proudly asked over my triple orgasm, which I plainly have no recollection of. ("Huh?")
So. Me thinks I will going on a teetotalling sabbatical until further notice, at least until the Easter weekend. Or at least try and figure out how, suddenly after 10 years of experienced and quasi-responsible boozing, I turn from moderately tipsy to flat-out fucking memory lossed. Even during my matric holiday, orientation week at varsity, long weekend holidays, places where I basically drank myself into a small stupor, this memory loss thing never happened.
It’s a little frightening to tell you the truth. Fuck around. Three times??