I'm writing a story. Here is the first couple of pages. It's just an easy reader ☺️
She took the stairs two at a time. It had been a long, stressful day at work, and she really just wanted to get back to her flat, take off her shirt and pencil skirt (and more importantly the restrictive items that were her bra and tights) and whack Total Wipeout on so she could concentrate on other people's misfortune instead of her own.
It wasn't just work that was bothering her. Her boyfriend, Marcus, was being a total dickbag too. She had heard rumours of his messing around from friends of hers, but the text she had received from an old friend she hadn't seen in years containing a picture of Marcus' penis taken at an artistic angle with a filter on confirmed the whispers that he was indeed sending dick pics over Instagram to random ladies.
She hadn't confronted him about it yet, she just couldn't be arsed with the argument it would inevitably cause with him either:
A) denying it was his penis.
B) making out that Jack, his best friend must have stolen his phone and sent the dick picture.
C) he had accidentally pressed send to someone else whilst in the middle of sending it to her.
No, tonight, she would be chilling with a bottle of Pinot, a family bag of kettle chips and Richard Hammond.
She unlocked the front door whilst clutching at the plastic bag from the overpriced corner shop containing said wine and crisps. As she turned the key she could hear her favourite voice coming through the door, that of her cat, Harold. She hadn't named him Harold out of choice, of course. He had been left to her by her dad who had passed just over two years ago.
Bustling through the door, Harold decided he wasn't playing ball tonight and hissed at Harriet as she entered her flat. "Fine, fuck you too, git." She said whilst kicking the door shut and almost tripping over her kettle chips she had unceremoniously dumped on the floor as she walked in. She immediately started pulling off her clothes and threw them in the general direction of the laundry bin. She was soon only wearing her undies and tights. She marvelled at the the amazing feeling of prickly static as she removed her tights, sighing a little as she went. Then came the pants, leaving her almost in the nude, but the favourite part of her day was yet to come. She shouted to the empty flat, "release the hounds!" And pinged her busty 34G bra towards the laundry.
Catching sight of herself in the floor length mirror, she realised she had a piece of lettuce stuck to the underside of her boob. "So that's where that went..." She remarked. She had had a BLT for lunch. She sighed and headed toward the kitchenette in her open plan living area. Grabbing a glass for the wine, and a bowl for the crisps, she made her way to the sofa and reached for the remote.
As she sat down and pointed the clicker towards the TV, she realised there was a note on the front of her TV screen. "What the fuck?!" She scrambled up to the TV and ripped the note off and quickly scanned the awful handwriting she recognised as Marcus's.
"Hey babe, I am going away for a couple of days, my phones broken, so don't bother trying to ring me, it won't get through. I'll drop you a text when I'm back. P.S. I knew there was only two places you'd see this, the fridge or the TV. Couldn't find any tape, so it's glued, soz."
"Fucking prick glued paper to my fucking TV, are you fucking kidding me?" Harriet immediately started to type out a text to Marcus. "I have been shown your dick by several people on IG now, but more than that, you've fucking GLUED paper to my fucking TELEVISION. I'm done, you egotistical prick." She was tapping her iphone screen fusiously and thanking autocorrect though the entire text.
"Arrrgh, FUCK!" She was absolutely seething as she stormed over to the bathroom where she knew she would find nail polish remover in the cabinet to get the superglue marks off the tele.
Five minutes later, she was sat back on the sofa, wine and crisps in hand, when there was a knock at the door. She could pretend she was out. Yep, that's it, she was going to pretend she wasn't in. She pressed mute on the TV hoping the knocker hadn't heard it in the first place. There was another knock, a masculine clearing of the throat, and a mans voice said, "erm, Harriet, I saw you come home ten minutes ago. Can I talk to you please?" Oh, it was only Oliver, her upstairs neighbour. She liked him enough, he wasn't noisy, which is the best attribute in an upstairs neighbour.
She grabbed her kimono and shoved it on quickly making sure she was all tucked in everywhere, THAT would be embarrassing. When she opened the door, there was Oliver clutching Harold, who let out a pitiful miaow and somehow looked ashamed with himself.
"Oh god Oliver, I'm so sorry! Has he been at Martha again?" Martha was Oliver's chihuahua, and Harold was somewhat amorous towards her. "Yeah. I thought I better bring him back before something happened. Am I disturbing you? I thought I heard some shouting a minute ago?" He said, with a look of something between humour and concern. "It's nothing, I'm fine now. Well. As fine as you can be when guys a such fucking dickbags." She quickly added, "Sorry, present company exempt, of course..." Oliver didn't look remotely surprised, he had heard it all from Harriet before. He was sure she must have the WORST taste in men, they usually had a conversation like this every few months.
"Cool, erm, I mean, rubbish. Want some company?"
"Yeah sure, so long as you bring your own wine, I'm going to need this whole bottle to myself." She replied.
"Okay." He handed Harold over to Harriet. "Give me two ticks."
