Weak at the Knees Read Online Free Page B
heated, topical conversation, handing the microphone to anyone wanting to make a point.
“Question Number Five. What were crushed to simulate the sound of spiders underfoot in the film Arachnophobia ?”
“Crisps,” says Analise.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“One hundred per cent - my stepmother was the make-up artist on the film.”
Anyway, the talkaoke wasn’t the main thing that got to me, although admittedly it did sound like much more fun than Gorky’s Summerfolk. It was when Nicki said that this gorgeous hunk called Dennis had been sitting next to her round the doughnut. The two of them had got into heated discussion as to why the British were normally so rubbish at sport and always performed so badly internationally and one thing led to another and she went back to his place and for the first time ever she’d experienced multiple orgasms.
“Question Number Eight. In England, which of these may a male do at sixteen without parental consent, but not a female: a) marry b) drive a tractor or c) join the army?”
None of us knew, so we guessed that it was ‘join the army’. But I didn’t care. Who gives a toss? I’d never even had one orgasm and Nicki the Beast had had loads of them in a row! Where was the justice? I was so mortified I actually considered going outside to play with Pele!
“This is the last question, which day was declared an official bank holiday in 1972?”
We looked at each other blankly. For the sake of putting something down we wrote May 1 st . Then Simon Shufflebottom, Shuffs for short, came and took our answer sheet away for marking. He shook his head, tutting. “Laydeez,” he said, looking first at the paper and then at Amber. “You should have known the last one. It’s New Year’s Day.”
Ten minutes later he announced the winners. We’d come second, with only one wrong answer. Amber started getting her stuff together, saying she’d left Pele tied up long enough. We were on our way out the door when the quizmaster came running after us.
“Laydeez, you’re not going already?”
Even though there were four of us there, he only had eyes for my best friend. Amber pointed to Pele.
“I’ve got to take him home.”
“Any chance the beautiful lady in the red hair would give me her number?”
She looked him up and down.
“You can have my e-mail address,” she said, searching her bag for pen and paper. She dug out a biro, scribbled her address on an old receipt and I noticed her rubbing her head again as we waved goodbye to the beauteous Analise and her beast of a friend Nicki and headed back home.
*****
I look at Hugo sound asleep next to me on our über expensive Carlton Hotel bed. I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be lying here thinking about the fact that I’ve not given my number to anyone in years. Besides, I don’t even fancy Simon Shufflebottom. I shouldn’t be lying here jealous about Nicki’s multiple orgasms either. I should be singing for joy. Look at me, how lucky I am, to have a good-looking boyfriend who whisks me off to Cannes for a surprise dirty weekend. Isn’t that what everyone looks for? A man who you love, who loves you back and treats you well? Hugo’s a pretty great catch. What more do I want? Am I asking too much?
I resort to counting sheep. Ram number 97 has a wise, guru-like air about him. Before I float into blissful slumber, I ask him a question. Tell me, oh woolly one, is it the relationship thing or the orgasm thing that’s overrated?
Chapter Four
I feel like I’ve only just nodded off when an annoying irritation stirs me out of my slumber. It’s my mobile phone buzzing on my bedside table. It takes a while to remember where I am and when I do, I pull the pillow over my head and wait for the phone to stop ringing. It does. Once again I start to drift off, but the damn buzzing starts up again. I open an eye. The digital clock on the
“Question Number Five. What were crushed to simulate the sound of spiders underfoot in the film Arachnophobia ?”
“Crisps,” says Analise.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“One hundred per cent - my stepmother was the make-up artist on the film.”
Anyway, the talkaoke wasn’t the main thing that got to me, although admittedly it did sound like much more fun than Gorky’s Summerfolk. It was when Nicki said that this gorgeous hunk called Dennis had been sitting next to her round the doughnut. The two of them had got into heated discussion as to why the British were normally so rubbish at sport and always performed so badly internationally and one thing led to another and she went back to his place and for the first time ever she’d experienced multiple orgasms.
“Question Number Eight. In England, which of these may a male do at sixteen without parental consent, but not a female: a) marry b) drive a tractor or c) join the army?”
None of us knew, so we guessed that it was ‘join the army’. But I didn’t care. Who gives a toss? I’d never even had one orgasm and Nicki the Beast had had loads of them in a row! Where was the justice? I was so mortified I actually considered going outside to play with Pele!
“This is the last question, which day was declared an official bank holiday in 1972?”
We looked at each other blankly. For the sake of putting something down we wrote May 1 st . Then Simon Shufflebottom, Shuffs for short, came and took our answer sheet away for marking. He shook his head, tutting. “Laydeez,” he said, looking first at the paper and then at Amber. “You should have known the last one. It’s New Year’s Day.”
Ten minutes later he announced the winners. We’d come second, with only one wrong answer. Amber started getting her stuff together, saying she’d left Pele tied up long enough. We were on our way out the door when the quizmaster came running after us.
“Laydeez, you’re not going already?”
Even though there were four of us there, he only had eyes for my best friend. Amber pointed to Pele.
“I’ve got to take him home.”
“Any chance the beautiful lady in the red hair would give me her number?”
She looked him up and down.
“You can have my e-mail address,” she said, searching her bag for pen and paper. She dug out a biro, scribbled her address on an old receipt and I noticed her rubbing her head again as we waved goodbye to the beauteous Analise and her beast of a friend Nicki and headed back home.
*****
I look at Hugo sound asleep next to me on our über expensive Carlton Hotel bed. I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be lying here thinking about the fact that I’ve not given my number to anyone in years. Besides, I don’t even fancy Simon Shufflebottom. I shouldn’t be lying here jealous about Nicki’s multiple orgasms either. I should be singing for joy. Look at me, how lucky I am, to have a good-looking boyfriend who whisks me off to Cannes for a surprise dirty weekend. Isn’t that what everyone looks for? A man who you love, who loves you back and treats you well? Hugo’s a pretty great catch. What more do I want? Am I asking too much?
I resort to counting sheep. Ram number 97 has a wise, guru-like air about him. Before I float into blissful slumber, I ask him a question. Tell me, oh woolly one, is it the relationship thing or the orgasm thing that’s overrated?
Chapter Four
I feel like I’ve only just nodded off when an annoying irritation stirs me out of my slumber. It’s my mobile phone buzzing on my bedside table. It takes a while to remember where I am and when I do, I pull the pillow over my head and wait for the phone to stop ringing. It does. Once again I start to drift off, but the damn buzzing starts up again. I open an eye. The digital clock on the
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