When Is A Honeymoon Not A Honeymoon (Part One)
I may have mentioned before that I was royally dumped just a stone’s throw from the altar by my ex fiancée Simon “The Serial Shagger” who had been trumping my former best friend Sharon BOBFOC (body off Baywatch, face off Crimewatch). As the honeymoon, along with everything else, had already been paid for, I decided to ask one of my friends to accompany me on the holiday to the Turkish coastal town of Altinkum.
On the third day after a tiring boat trip, we decided to use the local bar opposite our apartment rather than venturing further afield to the busy beach bars. After applying our slap we tottered across to the bar in our ridiculously high heels, totally unsuitable for the hazardous Turkish roads. Despite the treacherous pavements we made the journey in one piece and ordered our overpriced cocktails whilst watching the young semi naked Turkish Bar Boys performing their dance routines.
As the evening progressed and we had made our way through the limited cocktail menu, watched the karaoke, pub quiz and the dance routines. One or two of the bar boys, drifted across to our table, in an attempt to chat us up whilst taking our drinks orders. I was clearly not in the mood for a little lascivious chat but my friend, bolstered by a few cocktails, was enjoying the banter and innuendo. Having won the Most Publically Jilted Award, I had decided to embrace lifelong spinsterhood so I was not going to be getting my jiggy on with anyone anytime soon.
Most of the bar boys had prudently recognised my “Bitch Troll from Hell” expression and wisely side-stepped me. Two of the bar boys in particular, were vying for my friend’s affections that night and she was basking in the attention. Just because I was a bitter and twisted old maid, didn’t mean I didn’t want her to have a good time. I was quite content sitting there and people watching whilst she relished the cheesy one liners and the smooth moves. Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of the Turkish man in the adjoining shop watching me so I deliberately ignored him not wishing to give him or any other man any encouragement. I made a point of studying the cocktail menu intently but he was still staring at me.
As the evening got later and most of the customers drifted away, I too was keen to climb the stairs to blanket street, however, my friend buoyed up by one too many “Sex on the Beach” cocktails kept ordering another for the road. At this point, the man who had been watching me all evening came and sat at the table having acknowledged the bar boys who were competing for my friend’s favour. He sat there smoking whilst nonchalantly sipping on a Jack Daniels and Red Bull, without saying a word to me or my friend. A further thirty minutes passed and another round of drinks was ordered. At this point, the man became a little more talkative and punctuated every other sentence with “I am very big like you”. At one point in mid conversation he lunged at me but as he appeared to be inebriated, I was easily able to dodge him having had years of practise, wrestling with my siblings. In fact, I still hold the family record for having held my sister in headlock for at least three minutes! I was subtly trying to get my friend’s attention but as she was too busy playing tonsil tennis with a Turkish bar boy, she was oblivious to my situation. As the inebriated Turk rested his head on my shoulder, my friend announced with a wink, she was off on a moonlight beach stroll with her Turkish Knight. Cheers great! As I tried to extract myself from a drunken embrace, I realised that the man was unconscious. One of the other bar boys merrily revealed that my admirer was unused to alcohol but as they were locking up, they needed to move him.
And that would be my problem because? But clearly it was, as a few minutes later I had been recruited into helping assist the bar boy carry him to his upstairs apartment which he shared with a couple of the other boys. And wouldn’t you just know it – the apartment was on the third floor and there was no lift. So much, for my sparkly killer heels.
When we got him to his front door a good thirty minutes later, I felt that I had spent a week doing hard labour. The bar boy sensing I was not feeling the love, rummaged through the drunk’s pockets for his key. After stumbling through the door, we deposited him on a bed. My Turkish groupie lifted his head from the pillow just once before we left to say “I am very big like you” before falling into a deep slumber.
With my shoes in hand, I hobbled back to the apartment eager to re-acquaint myself with my nice comfy bed. I hoped that I wouldn’t be seeing that particular individual again but somehow fate had dictated otherwise!