Hanging out with the boys a the pub tonight, and an old acquaintance (clam who used to work there but has been fired for some time for bat shit craziness) made herself known to me. I went outside, which I suppose I didn't used to do when she worked there, because she asked me, "Since when do you sit outside?" A question laden with obvious meaning, that I must be sitting outside because I saw that she is back.

I simply told her, "Oh, I'm out here because you're here." Batted eyelashes. Sopping wet with sarcasm. Truth be told, I just saw the guys I meant to go hang out with, didn't even notice her.

Too funny. She was wearing the knee high socks, school girl plaid skirt, and a sheer enough to see her bra through it top. Constantly getting up to sit down to remark that the metal chairs made her ass cold (drawing attention to her ass and the shortness of her skirt). Constantly getting up to lean over a table and peer into reflective surfaces or just look behind her to see who she could catch checking out the underwear she was flashing.

This gash is 32 or 33, stacked up to her eyes with what I am sure is two bras supporting the massive weight of which tits just by even now sag to her belly button when loosed from their mammarian bra-stille. I'm sure these (I am sure, and I got a good eye for em) medically enhanced used to be fun bags are a great source of her feeling of entitlement to the mark of a top 10 quality gash.

The funny bit is that we all simply went about our evening oblivious to her. Discussing the content of this forum no less. Even funnier still was when the younger, smaller and prettier bartender who replaced her came out and hung out like one of the guys, one of whom remarked that "it's great to see her get off," and thicker older bitch cakes sauntered off clearly irked that her validation seeking attempts had not only failed, but worked in the opposite of the intended direction.

At this point was when I took my leave, as even a twat of close to if not actual 10 quality is a presence I am rarely in a mood to tolerate in such close proximity, even when my real name or whereabouts are unknown to her.

Definitely having been hot once upon a yesteryear had to be frustrating for this thirty something. Made my night to see the hamster seize up and fall off the wheel as she had to seek validation from even further post wall funts fawning over how pretty her sluttire was. Seeking their own validation, or perhaps engaging in a hamster circle jerk in attempt to get both themselves and her some attention by loudly asking if they could feel her skirt, they received a reply of, "What part do you want to feel," laced with what I'm sure was meant to sound like a youthful giggle but resonated as a manly chortle and fell upon deaf ears in the presence of the new toy.

Schadenfreude, dein name ist pfostenwand weiblich.