*This is an exclusive and juicy piece, brought to you by an exclusive and juicy guest writer – known to her audience as ‘A’… enjoy babes x *
Just call me Eve…I’m a sucker for that juicy, red, shining, forbidden fruit dangling so invitingly from the tree of temptation. I know I shouldn’t pluck it, disastrous consequences await after all, and yet, alas, [trouser] snake come hither, lure me unto sin.
Temptation, in this case, comes in the form of one plush red jacket wearing Cavalry Officer (ooer); henceforth we shall call him Apple. Tuxedo? Forget it. Military get up is where it’s at my dears. A man in uniform has the power to render the onlooker utterly helpless, ‘cause science. Combine this with a healthy helping of Tanqueray and my particular penchant for terrible decision making, and you have one ultra feminist sass queen reduced to doe eyed bimbo. Sh*t!
I’ve heard the rumours. I know the reputation. This Apple literally comes with a warning sign; it’s there, flashing above his perfectly coiffed head in big, neon letters *POISON APPLE. DO NOT BITE* So naturally, I jump his bones and eat him whole.
What’s worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing? I’ll tell you what. It’s a bloody wolf dressed as a wolf and you leave with him willingly. That dazzling smile, those twinkling eyes, the sweet nothing’s you know are nothing more than perfectly rehearsed lines tried and tested to make girls turn to mush. The worst part is I am totally aware of what is happening to me – this is all one big act to, ahem, get the worm out the apple as it were. This is all on you, girl.
Rational brain kicking in – should I escape? Do I want to escape? Worse than a date with potential killer, this man actually IS trained to carry that alarmingly long rifle he is now parading around the Mess with. Pffft as if marching with a gun is going to impress me boy! Har har, jokes on you, you foolish child. But wait. So. Macho. Uh oh, rational brain dwindling, irrational brain taking over. Must. Resist. Be still my beating loins! I have succumbed.
The sky now burnished with streaks of daybreak as I lay there, overlooking Buckingham Palace and reminiscing on those fateful last words my sweet Apple whispered to me –
‘There’s no one like you’
Had the morning lark ever sounded so sweet? How could anything go wrong I thought? Given my proximity to actual royalty, one COULD liken me to a real life princess! Hi Queeny! So, I had rested my head on the chiselled torso of my prince and traced down his rippling abdomen – abs be poppin’, like the bountiful country hills where we would inevitably start our beautiful family – when – bzzzz! – daydream interrupted – his phone lit up. Yes, you guessed it, woman after woman and an onslaught of flirtatious lines. Low and behold, the poison had kicked in and I began to feel nauseous. Seeing him for the haggard old witch he really was, I made a dash for it. Snow White be gone! (I just want to be a princess, ok!)
Sometimes the best mistakes are those we enter into gladly; hands outstretched and lead astray. But as I sit here and reflect how a man’s sartorial choices could have played such a role in determining where I slept that night, I reflect – was it all worth it? Abso-effing-lutely.
Red chinos are out. Beware the red jacket.