So, my father came home for a fortnight. I love him, but he drives me to the brink of insanity. So on Friday, he'd been home for maybe 3 hours before we ended up screaming bloody murder at each other, and I stormed out of the house and to crash at a friends house. Then came home on Saturday, managed another 4 hours before calling my friend to come pick me up again. Our plan was to get drunk.
That's the last thing I remember. Until Monday morning... When I woke up in a hotel room in Paris!
He says it was my idea. I call bullshit. Because I sure as hell didn't pay for the plane tickets. He did. And he was the one who would have had to go home to get his passport. But this is irrelevant.
My questions are these;
a) Who the fuck sold two drunk twenty-odd year olds tickets to Paris?
b) What the fuck were we thinking?
c) How did i loose an entire day?
d) What the fuck did we do during that missing day?
e) How the fuck did we manage to get on the plane in the state i'm assuming we were in?
So. The things i learnt are never, ever drink with him, ever again, whoever sells tickets at Manchester Airport obviously has a few screws loose, rich friends are pretty fucking awesome and Paris...well, it's pretty cool. And the hotels are sexy! Also, leaving you're phone at home is a stupid fucking idea!
Also, nothing will piss off your angry father like disappearing for 5 days with a tattooed 24 year old man that he's never met before. Just sayin'.
Viva La Remy!
x
p.s. Meghan, Sarah, Anita and Siân. I'm really, really sorry for worrying you. You guys are awesome, and I ♥ you all.
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