I’m 38. Three whole years past Donald Trump’s ‘use by’ date. So I suppose I shall always regret not letting the man down the dark alleyway kiss me at approximately 2:30am on 1st January 2000.
Even though they vehemently protested, I ditched my friends to go wandering down the old railway track looking for my boyfriend who was nowhere to be seen having taken himself on a chemically-induced walk in the wilderness. So I turned back and found myself alone. And all of a sudden feeling much less confident than I did in the pub an hour earlier.
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