A girl friend of mine just parted with a boyfriend of two years. The guy had moved to Cambodia for half a year; and in less than a month, he broke her heart by letting her know that he had cheated on her with a Cambodian. Men are so fickle. They should just STFU about women and clothes, for while females are fickle with fashion, at least they tend not to be fucking fickle with hearts.
Naturally of course, the girl’s back to the “Sex and the City” season one-two-three lifestyle and is painting the town red. Not limited in the looks, benevolence, intelligence or personality department, she has already smitten a smattering of Frenchmen, and is seeing a hot half Taiwanese/ half American party boy. On Saturday afternoon, I woke up, and the first text message from her read: “Just had my first anal.”
I compelled her to tell us firsthand about her rearward experience that night at Domani Ristorante. We were attending the Silly-Thing presented UNDERCOVER launch party of two new fragrances.
“It was a nice first date,” said my bad romance-recovering friend.
“DATE? You considered anal a first date activity?!?”
She’s like, “Yes. We went and did colonics together in the afternoon. It was my first time!”