Three girls, one bathroom. Saturday evening at 5.30. A better definition of carnage I have yet to see.
Miranda was in the shower, gouts of steam condensing on the mirror where Priya and I were battling for space. She was blow drying her hair while I was trying to apply my makeup, both of us kept having to break away at intervals to either clear some reflection space from the misted glass or to hastily reattach the towels that were all we had on, it seemed every time either of us lifted an elbow it moved our bodies under the folds and our tits fell out. You try applying eye liner or drying your hair without lifting your elbow above your shoulder, it's not easy.
Not that we were worried about being naked around each other, the three of us had been sharing a flat for eight months now and shared clothes and underwear on a regular basis, well bras, not knickers, that would be too much. It was just that it was a Victorian house converted into flats,\ the landlord hadn't bothered with insulation or central heating and it was cold, this being a late October Saturday in 2003 and Bristol isn't a warm city at the best of times, the weather comes whipping in from the Irish sea bringing rain, snow, and in today's instance, a damp biting wind that found it's way in through all the gaps around the windows to reduce our home to a good environment for Penguins to nest.
I finished with the bright blue eye-liner and went on to a purple mist of eye shadow, catching my towel as it slipped again bringing my 34Cs out, the chill in the air setting my nipples upright. Priya laughed at my discomfort and pretended to hang the hairdryer on the nearest one, the stretch making her towel slip as well so we both ended up staring at each other in all our topless glory.
"Serves you right" I told her, hoisting my towel up again and shivering. I reached out and flicked her on the left boob, catching her nipple with my fingertip.
"Ow. You cow." She laughed, giving it a quick rub. "If you're done bugger off out and let me at the rest of the mirror."
I strutted out in a parody of a catwalk model, stretching one arm above my head, clasping the other to my towel I gave a commentary "And here we see Nicola wearing the latest in evening slash bath-time wear from BHS, you'll note the fluffy effect of the towel is counterbalanced by the wonderful smoothness of her home waxing job. We draw particular attention to the fact that she's hotter than a vindaloo on Mercury with a stunning arse, and tits to die for."
Miranda's gentle Cork accent came out from behind the shower curtain "But 'tis a pity she has such short stumpy legs and a mouth like a Glasgow Docker. This Irish beauty is the one all the boys will be falling over themselves to get to know tonight."
I turned, raising a middle finger. "Stumpy? Fuck off you bog trotting shite"
Laughter came back at me from the bathroom "But she's right about that potty mouth of yours, girl."
A rustling and thumping sound behind me let me know she was out of the shower so my decision to vacate was proving sound, the bathroom was small enough with two of us trying to use the mirror, three would be impossible.
I stood in my room and quickly pulled on my underwear, tonight was a night for big pants and thick tights, it was cold, and my comfort was more important to me than the unlikely instance of ending up in a situation where I was inviting someone to check out the contents of my clothes on a one to one basis. Besides which if anyone was fortunate enough to get my pants off on the first time of meeting then he'd better not be critical or that would be the end of the discussion and he could go home frustrated and alone. I'm not a cruel woman but I know what I want, and in this case I wanted to be warm. Also shagging on first meeting wasn't really in my world.
The Etam bag was still on my bed, and I excitedly pulled out the dress I'd bought that afternoon in their sale. It wasn't super special but it was new and Priya and Miranda hadn't seen it yet so I would be getting a few jealous looks. It was a simple wrap style with a tie-back ending in a low hanging bow across my previously mentioned stunning arse. A low-cut cross over on the front allowed me to put some cleavage out there to prove my tits were in fact to die for. It was also three-quarter length so with my two inch heeled boots it helped disguise my short legs. Not stumpy. I'm five foot four which is above average for a girl, it's not my fault I share a flat with a freak.
An hour later we were all ready, all dressed up and were tucking into the first of many cocktails in a soulless steel and glass former wool merchant's warehouse. It had been gutted and refurbished but while they had filled it with all the trendy lighting and furniture, they'd forgotten to bring any atmosphere. Or human beings, so far we'd been approached by a selection of mouth breathers that seemed to think what we really needed to make our evenings complete was to hear some pathetic line about how much it must have hurt when we fell from heaven, or to remember their names, we'll be screaming them later. Miranda may have a point about the Glasgow Docker.
Priya snapped open her purse "What do you say. Girls? One more here then move on?"
That led to a discussion of where to go and whether it was better to wait where we were in the hopes it filled up with something more interesting than the under nineteen all Bristol losers contest because at least we had seats. Rock paper scissors and we were out of there.
Priya and I tried to hide behind Miranda on the way to the next bar, she's five eight and with her duffle coat didn't look as slim as she actually is so she made a perfect wind break. It didn't help that we'd both worn something thinner and prettier than her big, warm sensible coat and were shivering already. The only route open to us was ridicule, we dropped into appallingly bad Irish accents "Did your Mammy dress you Miranda?" "Oh sure and be careful Miranda there's a terrible wind, so there is. Mind you dress up warm."
Turns out I'm not the only one with a potty mouth.
Laughing, we fell into a big wood, copper, and brass pub, it was warm so seemed a good place to stay, we found a free table in an alcove and staked our claim. There was a band on a small stage in the corner playing Oasis and Blur covers, they were pretty good as pub bands go without being stupidly loud and gave the place a nice vibe.
I took my coat off and adjusted my dress that had twisted slightly, giving me the appearance of only having one boob. Quick shimmy and a shake later and I had my cleavage back. Miranda reached across and stuck her hands on them, I mean there's cold and there's fucking freezing. Her fingers were definitely closer to the freezing end of the scale. Then she grabbed my hands and held them to her chest.
"Fuck are you doing Miranda?" I asked, trying to pull away.
"Now feel your own" she told me.
I'd had two cocktails already and shared a bottle of wine before we went out, so it didn't seem such a bizarre request and I tucked my hands in between my tits (which were still to die for).
"What now" I asked.
Miranda leaned over and poked me in the breast. "Cold Tits." Then poked herself "Warm Tits. Don't be takin' the piss out of my coat. There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong coat. Now go and put them to good use and see if you can't catch us some firemen."
Shocked, but giggling insanely I wandered across to the bar, turning to face back to the table I breathed in and arched my back, pushing out and up, getting a big thumbs up from my friends.
Annoyingly someone at the bar had the same dress as me, except of course I looked better in it, what with my stunning arse and everything. She was wearing fishnets as well which always reek of desperation in my eyes, and she'd done a really shitty job of shaving her legs. And she was enormous.
Feeling pretty good about myself and my judgemental ways I wormed my way to the bar and stood trying to attract some attention. Cleavage front and centre I leaned so far forward I was in danger of hitting my nose on the counter, eventually it either worked, or it was my turn, and I put in my order for three long island iced teas.
"D'you want two or six?" asked the harassed looking barman. Confused I repeated the order for three.
"It's happy hour. Two for one. If you order three, I'll give you six, if you order two, I'll give you four."
