You Give Good Text

Saturday night was a dress-up party. We don't celebrate Halloween here in Australia - unless you're a lame hipster attempting to channel Brooklyn-chic - so this was pure costume, for no reason other than the fact that costume parties are:

1. an opportunity to dress as sexily/skankily as possible; and
2. an opportunity to judge people - guys in particular. If they play it safe or don't dress up they're outta there. There are no '3 strikes' in costume-party-world.

Of course I leapt at the opportunity to dress in all my skin-tight, black, pussy-cat glory: tequila is wasted on the girl in the corner dressed as Mary Poppins.

3am approached. While I'd burned up the dance-floor and writhed senselessly with the doorframe, my whiskers were yet to be smudged by a tiger. My drunken text, only somewhat sophisticated by the addition of a picture, was delivered to 2 inboxes - a social experiment had unwittingly been created.

Option 1: Babe u are ridiculously hot, we are having a massive cook up should get here ... biggest babe ever! Mwah mwah.

I'm not joking. Every time I see "cook up", I think "cock-up". That was the worst text message I've ever seen... Except perhaps for "you can't keep drinking tequila like that".

Option 2: God you look good. Apart from a lot of kissing, I would definitely have to pay a great deal of attention to your breasts tonight. ....

(And then it became X-rated).