The Handbag of Fire!
Last Thursday evening I was sitting in a wine bar with a couple of friends, partaking in some 'man chat' (travel, women, football… what else do men talk about? Ah yes, Top Gear). Across the room sat a table of ladies, enjoying a Christmas party. They, too, were busy drinking and chatting (travel, men, netball… what else do women talk about? Ah yes, the X-Factor ;) ).
As we approached the end of the evening, my friend pointed across to the 'table of ladies' and casually muttered the words "there's going to be a fire in a minute." I glanced across to observe that a handbag, belonging to one of the girls, was perched precariously close to one of the table candles. It seemed that every time the lady leaned over to talk to her friend, her elbow pushed the bag nearer to the candle.
Sensing the danger, I leapt up, as if I'd been bitten on the bum by an steel toothed antelope (quite impressive to behold, believe me), and scampered across the room, in a scene reminiscent of the film Backdraft (for those who don't know, Backdraft was a film about fire fighters, not a documentary about flatulence). The way I saw it, I had three options:
1) Give them a rendition of my cleverly adapted Kings Of Leon song… "you….. your bag is on fire…." (that's the first time I've ever exchanged sex for a bag)
2) Nudge the bag away from the candle flame and then give her a lecture on how she should be more careful with her incredibly (in)expensive bag.
3) Grab a fire extinguisher and enthusiastically spray foam over the bag, table and everyone sitting around it (just to make sure that the fire doesn't spread). Not only would I put the fire out (with any luck), but I would also fulfil a childhood ambition.
Approaching the table, I realised that the handbag was already on fire (the handle was alight). So, no time for option 1, and option 2 went straight out of my mind - it was time to be Russell Crowe, not Russell Grant. I grabbed the bag with both hands and shook it to fan out the flames. Within a few seconds, the flame was extinguished. Wow, what a hero. I stood back and waited for the gratitude… but like a British Airways Christmas plane flight, it didn't arrive.
Instead of rapturous applause and a big kiss on the cheek (from each of them, apart from the one that looked like a man!), the group of drunken girls just sat there, staring at me. I imagine it took some of them a little while to fathom out what had just occurred. It probably also took some of them a little while to focus on my blurred figure, having just consumed their twelfth Mojito. Sensing the awkwardness of the situation, I didn't stay around to chat; instead retreating to my table to discuss my "heroics" with my friends. It was at that point that I started to remember about how precious handbags are to women.
Separating a woman from her handbag is a bit like trying to walk off with her arm or leg. Handbags are a precious part of them and they don't let them out of their sight easily. So, me going up and grabbing that lady's handbag was probably a little bit like me wandering up and clutching a handful of her breasts - quite shocking, I imagine.
To sum up: I had saved the lady's priceless £10 M&S handbag from a trip to handbag heaven and stopped the rest of the table, ceiling and wine bar from going up in smoke. My reward for all that: being looked, and giggled, at like I was a pervert at a pool party. Maybe I SHOULD have grabbed her breasts after-all... it seems I was destined to feel a tit either way! ;)



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