The night I saved Madame Red

MC had a soft spot for an Icelandic girl whose name no one could pronounce and Madame Red, to my utmost surprise, was shamelessly flirting with me.

The night, we thought, could be full of surprises and we were rubbing our hands together with glee. We could already picture ourselves, the 4 of us sharing a bottle of wine in a summer evening sunset. It suddenly seemed beautiful and necessary. Our happiness would be so perfect that in winter we’d make love all together on a furry carpet in front of a fireplace.

MC and I were so happy that we felt like smoking cigars.

But then.

When the Icelandic girl arrived at the party, MC, excited as a kid on Christmas day, ran head first to open the door and landed downstairs completely knocked out, blood pouring all over from a nasty gash on top of his skull (a German legionnaire who attended the party offered to stitch him up there and then, which MC politely declined.)

As for me, I was discussing serious matters with Master P.(the endless debate between Swedish girls or Danish girls) when a huge window frame fell towards me at the speed of light, missed my head by about an inch and eventually crashed on my shoulder (I didn’t show the open wound to the legionnaire, I am quite prudish and I already knew the diagnostic).

The Icelandic girl left to meet other friends. Friends that were less drunk and less bloody than MC. Friends who were more suitable to her.

While looking for the toilets I committed an act of bravery unheard of and saved Madame Red. She left anyway. Because sometimes in life, it’s better to have your cell turned off.

Later on, at the Scouser’s – a boy/girl ratio of about 14 to 1 – I enjoyed a last breath of energy and managed to sprain my knee while dancing.

MC and I came back home alone and duly hammered.

The day after, it was already night when we woke up. We respectfully checked our respective injuries.

It had been, altogether, a pretty good night.