On Saturday S and I went to the football. It was very stressful for many reasons. Firstly, they lost. Badly. And unfairly I might add. Secondly, on the way there I lost my favourite bracelet, I will not blog about that as you will find it dull but I wanted it said in case my bracelet is out there and reads this blog and thinks I don't miss it.
Anyway, the match. At this point I will explain that next to our seats is a very fat man (not just there obviously, he has a seat), he is an idiot. Firstly he overlaps onto my seat and constantly elbows me in the boob. Secondly he thinks he is the best footballer ever even though he can't walk up the stairs to his seat unassisted, I'm not actually sure how he gets into the stadium although my guess would be airlifted.
He is very opinionated about the match, gems from Saturday include:
'I could get it to the other end faster' 'Well done ref, you twat' 'Pass it mate, I could do a pass like that before I was born' and 'Get up you wanker, I thought this was a man's game. You woman.'
All loud and in my ear. I did not say anything for fear he would sit on me so I bit my tongue and confined him to the people-I-will-banish-when-I-am-Queen-of-the-World box in my head.
Until he said this:
"Ref you complete twunt - I hope you die in a car crash on the way home"
Now while I commend him on his excellent usage of the word 'twunt', hoping someone dies categorises him as BAD in my book.
So, bored with the dismal game, I set myself to teach him a lesson (comparing myself to a righteous Enid Blyton). I noticed his phone hanging out of the pocket of his jogger bottoms on my side. I carefully slipped the phone out and placed it on the floor. I will point out now that this was not a clever or sensible plan and I am not proud of it.
I settled back smugly and focused on the game. After 10 minutes I decided that it was too wrong, that even though he was blatantly evil, I should not lower myself to his level, I am not a twunt after all.
So operation-return-phone started. Under the guise of scratching my ankle I cleverly picked up the phone, I then stuck it up my left sleeve ready to drop it in his open pocket.
I positioned my hand just right but damn it! the phone was caught up my sleeve, so I moved the entire sleeve into the pocket and jiggled it about.
At that moment there was an almighty cheer as the home side scored and the man stood up in rapture.
With my hand still in his pocket.
There was a pause. Then, loud and clear,
'Alright love, you don't have to beg for it, there's enough of me to go round'.
S is moving our seats next season.
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