Chapter 1: Tequila has a lot to answer for
If you had told me a few months ago that I would be sitting here, lounging at the poolside, in a bikini (!) and bored out of my nuts, I would have told you to take a hike and get yourself checked by a shrink.
Yet, here I am, lounging by the poolside, in a black 2-piece bikini-like bathing suit, and yes, bored out of my nuts. But the views are great.
It all started 2 or 3 weeks ago on a drunken night out with my girl squad. Oh, I can see you roll your eyes, for those nights out always end up in some sort of shenanigans or another. Usually with me flat on my face, ranting about whatever I am ranting about that week, and my friends laughing their head off because it wouldn’t be funny when we are sober, but it’s hilarious when we are not.
That night was no different. The topic of conversation? ’Romance Paradise’, that hideous TV show where single plastic looking people go and live at a beach house somewhere far away and tropical looking and spend a month bitching at and about each other, snogging and swapping partners till they find “true romance”.
It’s all bullshit of course. I mean, they are so fake it makes that ex American president look like a church minister. Fake tits, fake hair, fake nails, fake tan, and that’s just the girls. Don’t get me started on the guys. So called Alpha males high on energy boosting sports drinks, showing off their packages and thumping themselves on the chest. Why anyone would fall for that, I have no idea.
Now is maybe the right time to tell you I have never actually watched the show. I have seen the adverts of bikini clad Barbies and pumped-up Ken dolls and seen the pictures in the paper from when they announce their latest line up of airheads and bimbos and have maybe watched some of the clips when in the last season there was a huge bust up that caused quite a storm on social media, but I have never seen a full episode. I refuse to waste my time on that car crash trash.
You have probably guessed by now that I am quite an opiniated girl. I am, but only in private or when I am with my trusted girl squad. My friends and colleagues will tell you I am actually quite reserved and shy. I am not someone who goes about telling everyone what she thinks, and I would never be offensive or anything. I keep myself to myself, and don’t socialise a lot apart from nights out, or in, with the gals. That’s when we let it all out. Relationships and breakups, family and colleagues that annoy us, the latest tv shows we like and things we wouldn’t be caught dead watching, no topic is out of bounds. We have known each other since nursery and trust each other completely.
So, back to that night a few weeks ago. It started out normal, like every other night. We were meeting at our favourite food place before moving on to the bar. Sarah was late, Nadine was already tipsy, and Carmen had a relationship crisis she was desperate to talk about. Lissie had dyed her hair pink and I, Becky, was wearing my favourite shirt because I felt lucky that night. I might even meet a nice guy for once.
Cause I am as single as they come. And would love to meet someone. But somehow, the guys I date are all arseholes. Of course, I don’t know that when I say yes to a date, but usually by the second date, if they even get that far, their true colours shine. I have become known amongst my friends as ‘One Date Becky’. I am picky, according to them. I’d rather call it that I have a good bullshit meter.
Everything went smoothly during dinner. Food was lovely as usual, and we chatted rather loudly but they are used to us by now at the restaurant we frequent, so no harm done. They know to put us at the table in the back to avoid complaints from other diners.
We then moved on to the bar and sat in our usual booth. Lissie got the first round of tequila shots in, and I bought the second. We then moved on to cocktails.
“Who wants to dance?” Sarah shrieked. “Me, me, me!” I shouted, and all five of us went to the dancefloor. I don’t normally really dance, as I am shit at it, but alcohol makes me lose my inhibitions, so I am game for a bit of bumping and grinding on music even though I have no idea what song it is. The dancefloor was packed, and we all laughed and laughed about the eager guys trying to get close to the young girls in short dresses.
One such guy sidled over to me and started swaying a bit too close for comfort. Carmen elbowed him rudely and hissed: “My girlfriend, arsehole. Find your own!” The guy looked startled and all five of us nearly wet ourselves because we thought it was hilarious.
After about 30 minutes we’d had enough so went back to our booth for more shots. Big mistake.
“So has anyone seen that they are doing another series of ’Romance Paradise’?” Carmen slurred, and Sarah squealed excitedly and loudly, fuelled by the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. “That’s my favourite show! How exciting!”
“I didn’t think they would, after that huge upset the last season. Quite the scandal and they had a lot of cleaning up to do to cover up the mess” Carmen continued. “Does your friend not work for the production company, Nad?”
“Yes!” Nad replied drunkenly. “They are auditioning at the moment. Gerry says it’s a nightmare because they have a lot less people wanting to be on it this year and they get a lot of people who are fame whores and egostatiscal”.
“Sounds perfect for the show then” I hiccupped.
“Nah, Gerry says they have been told to diver… differ… differsifly. Not just the usual Barbie dolls and Ken dolls and such. They lost a loooooot of viewers last year and they need to get something different. And it’s reeeeally hard!”
“So, there is hope for you then Becks!” Sarah laughed. I glared at her. “Over my dead body”.
“Noooo, you’d be perfect! You are suuuper single and shit”.
“Thanks for reminding me, you bee”.
“Nah, she is not pretty enough” Carmen said.
“So is. She is gorgeous”.
“Yeah, but she’d be all bitchy and would get voted off within no time”.
“I would” I said.
“Yeah, and that would be soooo funny!” Lissie giggled.
“Yeah, like you would be the one all the guys like because you are not fake, and the girls would hate you!” Carmen declared.
“You know what, maybe I should be on it! I could be that girl. I mean, guys like me, right? So, what that I don’t have fake tits and stuff? And that I don’t ever wear a bikini? And that I don’t give a toss about make-up? I could pretend to be the girls’ best friends and then spill all their secrets to the guys and be like their little sister and stuff”.
“Yeah, that’s brilliant Becks! Do it!”
“Best idea you’ve had like e-ver!”
“You should pitch that shit to the show and they could hire you and pay you in ice cream and swag and stuff”.
“Yeah, and lots of booze”.
“Yeah, and pizza and cake. Those Barbies don’t eat that anyway”.
The more my friends encouraged me, the more I thought this was the best idea I had ever had. I was going to post on my Facebook and tag the show in it and send them an email and tweet and call Gerry and Instagram it and pitch them the idea and they would love it and I would be the hero who saved the show! Hurrah for me!
“Let’s have more shots to celebrate!” Nadine shouted, and we all cheered. More shots! Hurrah!