Last night was the most embarrassing night of my life.
I was that girl.
You know, the highly intoxicated chick celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her two best friends—who are happily married. And the more I drank, the more I wanted to do something reckless to celebrate.
By reckless, I mean the sexy and alluring woman dressed in a business suit standing near the bar. You know her type—tall not that dark but so handsome. I was sure she was out of my league, but I'd had just enough alcohol that things like that no longer seemed to matter. I'm not fat, mind you, but you can tell I like french fries, so there's that.
She took me home, and I enjoyed the hottest birthday sex of my life. Well, until it came to a screeching and rather unwelcome halt.
There's nothing quite like being interrupted mid-ride with a little voice asking, "What are you doing to my dada?"
Just kill me now . . . or so I thought.
Come to find out, the woman I rode like a bull at the rodeo is my new landlord.