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Roll on Saturday Okay. Admittedly, we bought the tickets six weeks ago, so I guess I should have known, but even so, I don’t think I deserve to be treated like this. I don’t think I’ve done enough to be ignored. I can’t work out who he’d rather be with, me or them. Oh everything was fine when the support acts were on; he wanted to know me then, pawing at me like a blind man in the dark, but as soon as the band takes to the stage, that’s it. Off. Gone. And I’m left sitting here, scratching my nail polish and staring at my fishnets. Jeez, I feel like a right bitch, but I swear it’s not my fault. He’s standing here, right next to me, touching me even and yet he’s oblivious of my presence; and as for the couple on my other side, they aren’t much better, what with him banging his cap like a nodding-Buster and her clapping her hands like a chimp at a tea party. And as for the missing link sat behind me, I swear if she plants her knee into my head one more time, I’m out of here, whether he likes it or not. I’m the one with the car keys, and right now, I couldn’t care less if he had to catch a train or hitch a ride with Fred West! The bastard! How dare he treat me like this? |
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