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A lesson I learned all too painfully last night.

I was out on a date with this girl I really like, a classy bird by all accounts. Things are going nicely, we're in a late bar after visiting a rake of pubs on Georges St. and Dame St. in Dublin.
Everything is going really well, I'm working my stuff, trying my little heart out. Two o' clock rolls around and by this stage we are both fairly hammered.
So, I casually invite her up to my apartment for a cup of tea and a cheeky spliff, which she accepts.
So, we're in my apartment, quite stoned by now and things start to get a bit heavy. I suggest moving into the bedroom, which she is cool with, remembering only when I open the door, that my room actually resembles a council rubbish tip.
I am so lazy, I still had pictures of my ex stuck on the wall, as well as a framed picture of her too, that I just totally forgot was there.
Also, scattered around the room, were various items of overwear, underwear and smatterings of pornography and other boyish stuff.
Needless to say, I was denied my wicked way with this lovely girl, soley, because of the state of my shit hole bedroom.

She was, to say the least, not impressed.

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