iarpo

Accidental girlfriend

I'm in a house full of people, all family and friends of my girlfriend. However my girlfriend is my real life ex's sister, and the worst bit is that I don't know which girl she is. So without wanting to lose face I try to navigate a busy house and try to figure out who's my girlfriend. I don't even want a girlfriend – how did this happen?

I walk around giving pre-emptive smiles to pretty girls, trying a process of elimination, deflecting questions from her family about me and her. I finally think I've figured out who I think it is and call her name, she glares at me, wrong girl. The right girl however is behind me and didn't see my mistake. She leaps at me with a hug and plants a kiss on me. Ok, problem solved, I guess she's my girlfriend. She's quite hot, long blonde hair (I prefer brunettes), tall but not taller than me. She looks like a mash up of all the blonde mainstream actresses.

It turns out she came into my room while I was asleep, woke me up and asked to be my girlfriend. In my confused state I say yes and run to the bathroom to pee.

We blow the party off and go for a walk on the seafront. I've no idea where in the country we are but it feels southern, quite well to do. The populous look like aristocratic stock. It's dark, evidentally not a massive town, very little light pollution, I can see way more stars than in Leeds. We walk along but nowhere's really open. We stop for a smooch on the doorstep of a jewellers, white tiled floor, it's door facing the adjoining McDonalds.

When we're finished we go into McDonalds but think better of it and leave, finding a small porch with a white tiled floor, the doors of the two businesses facing towards each other. Still hungry we go into the other door.

Inside is a small, shabby, windowless room, a long Formica table nearly fills the space, there's maybe two feet between it and the wall. The only light is from a small TV in the corner, a grimy blue glow, eyes just able to see in the gloom. The air feels heavy and cloying. I'm sure this was very recently a living room in a shabby bedsit. We're knelt at the table, she's snuggled against me, content in our new home together.

A customer walks in, dressed in a worn grey kimono. He orders the prawn noodles. I blink, realising I'm the chef in this debacle of a business. Problem is, I have no idea what I'm doing despite the massive menu we apparently offer. I look at the pictures in the menu for inspiration and turn to my stove, a crappy little camping stove, it's flame barely visible even in the gloom. I muddle around with a few ingredients, constantly scrutinised by the customer. He wasn't buying it, this super sleuth didn't believe I was a chef.