Schnapp Lap, Thriction Burn and Gigantica the Pizza

You might recall that last Wednesday, we were going to comedy night. The comedy was…mixed. Very mixed. How mixed? We went to the toilet and the bar before the first bloke had even finished his third ‘joke’. That’s how mixed it was.

Anyway, I was minding my own business, slightly reeling from one too many double schnapps and lemonade when I started to feel wet. Not all of me, just my lap. At first I thought-

How could I have wet myself, this man isn’t even funny?

*sniffs*

In actual fact, I’d spilled my drink in my lap during a lapse in concentration. All you could smell was peaches and the more I tried to dry myself, the more my drink spread seamlessly across my chair and started soaking into my backside. Nice. By the interval I had a soggy bottom, wet underwear and I smelt like a peach tree in full Spring bloom.

After quite literally stumbling home because the SU clearly cannot afford proper measuring equipment and actual glasses, I ate three pizzas and four crumpets with a flatmate, crawled into bed and died for the evening.

On Thursday, I had my gym induction. Oh yes people, I’ve joined a gym. Do I enjoy going? No. There’s something about being surrounded by sweaty fitness freaks whilst I wobble dangerously on a cross trainer that just doesn’t appeal to me.

Anyway, the induction was fine so roll onto Friday when I decided to go to the gym properly and make an effort. After all, I paid for the membership so I might as well get my money’s worth, right? So there I was, doing a bit of power walking on the treadmill at the back of the room with Dusty Springfield blaring in my ears- oh yes, I’m old school- when I suddenly realised that I was in excruciating pain. Every step was agony, but I figured that’s what exercising must feel like.

On Saturday the pain remained persistent but I just carried on, no pain no gain and all that. Oh how I wish I had stopped. How I wish I could’ve realised that the pain was actually my inner thighs clashing together like the USA and the USSR in the Cuban Missile Crisis.

The truth is, I gave myself friction burn on that treadmill. Actual, factual, ow-it-hurts-to-walk friction burn. The sheer force of my thighs sliding past each other like tectonic plates has given me Thriction Burn (Thigh+Friction=Thriction). Is this a common thing? Of course not. I’m unique in my agony.

Now you might be about to say-

But I’m sure the feeling of accomplishment was worth it

Well it wasn’t. According to those hellish machines I only burnt 800 calories in two days. That’s the equivalent of 18 biscuits containing oranges from an area in Israel. 18! I could eat 18 in one sitting!

What a delicious looking Israel Orange Biscuit!

Now I know I should keep going and keep pushing, but I bought a packet of Israel Orange Biscuits (24 for a £1, bargain of the century) and guess what? I ate a whole packet. Now I know that has actually defeated the object of my visit to the gym but…well I was annoyed. And tired. And sweaty.

Early Sunday morning was, without a single doubt, hell on earth. I won’t go into too many details so I don’t embarrass too many people but here’s the basic facts:

• Our curtains ended up on the floor and our bins were knocked over
• There was ham everywhere. Literally everywhere. If you were out in the open, odds are you were covered in ham
• The entire kitchen floor was wet. And it wasn’t wet because the pipes had burst. It was wet because the water had been used to wash away large volumes of…um…you get the picture

Move forward to Sunday night when none of us had actually left the flat. Not a single person had ventured outside as the events of Sunday morning had left us drained and weakened of any energy we might have possessed. Instead we ordered pizza, a gigantica pizza. That’s around 24″ in size.

I’d like to add here that I have eaten enough pizza for a small village and don’t want to see another slice for at least two weeks.

Just looking at it is giving me the shakes….

Anyway, the gigantica arrives and…well there’s only one word for it- Greasy. There was so much cheese that it was practically glimmering grease in the ceiling lights. Don’t get me wrong, I ate my two slices faster than anyone else in the flat, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t ready to tear my insides out when that cheese covered monstrosity hit my stomach.

As it turned out, I was fine which just makes me think that I really do have an iron stomach. After all, if absinthe and a greasy gigantica fail then what could succeed? The milk I drank today was two days out of date and I feel great. Well, not quite great because my thighs hurt when I walk, but I’m feeling pretty average.

Or does feeling average mean that I’m on the cusp of imminent death?