Am I a working girl?

This weekend I had my first night out in about six weeks. I've been working really hard recently. I went to see a friend of mine beat-boxing with a choir on Friday night. It was a joint birthday party for a couple of other friends so I took a piñata and malteser buns with toblerone topping. Everyone admired my buns. The piñata was lots of fun but as most people were in couples the condoms and lube didn't go down as well as I hoped. I shoved the leftovers into my handbag for reusing in the next piñata I make for a friend.

The following night was another friends birthday party. We went to a lovely outdoor bbq in an alley and the sunshine. I was tempted into going on the promise of food porn. This disappointed me on the grounds that it wasn't at all what I expected - but that's another story.

I was so hung over from the night before I never got around to emptying the piñata swag from the night before into the giant penisata I'd made for the event. It went down really well. Cherie, who was at first a reluctant volunteer, smashed the thing in two on the first swipe [I'll add photos later]. Needless to say there were a lot more leftover condoms and lube and sweets that went into my handbag.

Either I'm getting too old now or I'm just not going out often enough and need more practice. Two nights out in a row were too much so I wondered around the corner by myself for a cigarette. Sometimes I just crave my own space. A group of men walked by and one of them stopped to ask me for a light. We got chatting whilst I rummaged around in my handbag to look for one. There were so many random things in there that I ended up on my knees just emptying out the whole of its contents onto the pavement. There was handful after handful of bag skum. Finally found my lighter after a epic search and a lot of polite small talk.

He lit his cigarette and thanked me. As he was walking off to catch up to join his friends he stopped to ask me a question 'Are you a working girl?'. At first I was a bit confused, I blurted out 'yes, I mean I work and I'm a girl, I'm not a prostitute!'. He apologised and wondered off a bit embarrassed.

I was really bemused for a moment - why on earth would he think I was a prostitute? I finally managed to put two and two together in my drunken state. Stood alone on a street corner, wearing a red polka dot dress, handbag full of condoms and lube, looking rough and hung over from the night before...

Maybe I should use less piñata stuffing in the future. I guess there are worse assumptions people could make.