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The Walk of Shame

I don’t need to list the benefits here of all the fun involved in a one-night stand. Anyone that’s had the pleasure, so to speak, will know the lure of a no-strings-attached, one-show-only romp.

But, fun as the night can be, the problem comes with how to delicately extract yourself from the situation the next morning?

Ideally, you’d wake up to find yourself in a strange room, take a minute to register your pounding head and your new surroundings, then slide silently out of bed, grab your things and get out.

In reality, they always wake up when you try this stunt, to find you buck naked in the middle of the room, hopping around on one foot, trying to get back into the skinny jeans that you managed to pull on last night, but this morning are proving troublesome.

If your new bonk buddy has any kind of manners, they’ll close their eyes and pretend to be sleeping, letting you make a quick escape.

I once got out the front door and halfway down the street – I was quietly patting myself on the back for the stealth mission I’d pulled off – before the guy in question came running after me, asking if he’d done anything wrong and couldn’t we go get breakfast?

Hm, let’s see…

Still wearing LBD and stilettos from night before… face smeared with make up I should’ve taken off hours ago… bed-head hair (but not in the sexy, Gisele tousled beach-waves kind of way, more in the Amy Winehouse on a binge kind of way)…

Gee, I bet I’d make for a great sight over Eggs Benedict, but perhaps I’ll pass for now.

The only time the morning after escape is art in motion is when both parties understand this was just a one night thing and each lets the other gracefully get away with it.

This means fighting the urge to be polite by asking for a number you know you’ll never dial.

It means saying “Goodbye, thanks for a great night.” And not “So I’ll see you around sometime,” which is serving only to make a liar out of both of you.

My flatmate successfully managed her first ever one-night stand brilliantly.

She got out of there, survived the walk of shame through our bustling, brunching inner-city suburb and arrived home jubilant, knowing she never had to see him again…

Only to remember she’d left my earrings she’d borrowed the night before on his bedside table.

I joyfully sent her back to pick them up later that week.

She offered to buy me new ones rather than suffer the humiliation of being the girl who left her earrings behind for an excuse to go back, but unfortunately they were irreplaceable.

But my favourite story of the perfect casual night ending comes courtesy of J.

As she was leaving the house, her night-before-beau lifted his hand to wave her goodbye on the doorstep.

She mistakenly thought he was going the high-five and laid one on him: Yeah! Woot! Awesome job last night!

He was bewildered to say the least, but I happen to think it’s a perfectly fitting ending to a well-executed one-night stand.

New etiquette should dictate we all high-five (or fist-bump, if you prefer) and then turn the Walk of Shame into, as my friend E calls it: the Stride of Pride.

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Author |

Writer, dating columnist, wife, coffee addict, foodie, fashionista... Melburnian through and through. Muser, dancer, blogger, tweeter. Likes to get her head on telly now and again. Sleeper, dreamer, a sucker for romance. And of course... a cheap date.

Discussion

One comment for “The Walk of Shame”

  1. Posted by renu | May 31, 2011, 5:23 pm

    nice

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