mashburger.

Ehhhh.

Dad was picking us up last night. My phone was dead, and Brooke’s was at home, so I called from Mike’s phone. “I’ll be there in 20!”. In 20 minutes we went out the front to wait. 10 more minutes past. 15. Kim and Mike had jumped into a taxi as soon as we’d gotten outside so I had no way of calling to see where he was. A guy came over and was talking to us (turns out he lived in Strath, not far from Barker, funnily enough) and was nice enough to let me borrow his phone to call father - he’d fallen back asleep (lol - it was a little after 2am so I’ll let him off the hook for this one). So we went back in, danced with this guy and his friends for a little bit. They were pretty funny, good fun to dance with (that’s what I love about Syke. Always see someone you know there, always make new friends for next time). We danced, laughed, his really tall friend kept hitting me on the head with his arms as he danced over the top of me, and accidentally headbutted me at least once.

After another 20 he and his tall mate came out the front with Brooke and I to wait for dad to pick us up, to make sure he showed up this time. I also had to use all my strength to push the tall guy (I only know him as praying mantis..) away from a brawl with the bouncer. We were sitting down and he asked for my number.. I gave it to him, not thinking I’d seriously ever hear from him. But I did, this morning. And the worst part is, I don’t know his name. After all that I feel like I should, and I feel really rude asking him for it..

Solution?