It was with some trepidation that I accepted an invite to a Topless Bathroom Party in the early hours of Sunday morning. Here we go, I thought, I'm going to have to get my breasts out aren't I? Because despite the hour and the numerous ridiculous pink Breezers, I was feeling pretty sober. But the thought of sitting around admiring the other girls' lovely boobs was too much so I ended up tagging along anyway, and Truculent Horse came too.
The Topless Bathroom Party was a handful of girls, a boy, and a horse all sitting in Urður's bathroom at 5am knocking back apple schnapps and giggling. And while I was quite happy to accept the schnapps, I refused to join in with the topless bit. "I'm a prude!" I insisted, trying to look my hostess in the eye rather than the chest. "I'm British, I can't help it!"
But then I just ended up sitting there fully-clothed in the bathtub thinking, am I really going to be that girl who wouldn't go topless at the topless party? So, in what was admittedly a bit of a mad panic, I whipped my top up for a split-second before making a mad dash for it down the stairs, out the door, and up the road, my most loyal yet truculent horse cantering along behind me.
I love Icelandic parties. I will get better at them one day, I promise.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
archive
- August 2011 (1)
- July 2011 (2)
- June 2011 (15)
- May 2011 (9)
- April 2011 (19)
- March 2011 (19)
- February 2011 (17)
- January 2011 (2)
- December 2010 (2)
- November 2010 (1)
- October 2010 (3)
- September 2010 (2)
- July 2010 (3)
- June 2010 (3)
- April 2010 (1)
- February 2010 (2)
- January 2010 (2)
- September 2009 (1)
- August 2009 (4)
- July 2009 (4)
- June 2009 (3)
- May 2009 (8)
- April 2009 (11)
- March 2009 (12)
- February 2009 (9)
- January 2009 (4)
- December 2008 (10)
- November 2008 (27)
- October 2008 (21)
- September 2008 (12)
- August 2008 (9)
- July 2008 (11)
- June 2008 (5)
- May 2008 (5)
- April 2008 (12)
- March 2008 (10)
- February 2008 (11)
- January 2008 (15)
- December 2007 (10)
- November 2007 (9)
- October 2007 (3)
- September 2007 (9)
- August 2007 (8)
- July 2007 (10)
- June 2007 (13)
- May 2007 (14)
- April 2007 (11)
- March 2007 (11)
- February 2007 (12)
- January 2007 (9)
- December 2006 (4)
- November 2006 (10)
- October 2006 (8)
- September 2006 (12)
- August 2006 (19)
- July 2006 (22)
- June 2006 (7)
- May 2006 (25)
- April 2006 (18)
- March 2006 (5)
- April 2004 (1)
- November 1998 (1)
- March 1980 (1)

That was a lucky escape. I'm never going to a party again, in fact I'm never going to Reykjavík again, it's too scary. You forgot to mention that I only took off my jumper! To reveal a pretty fetching red t-shirt underneath.
ReplyDeleteI did have the polo-neck removal in an earlier draft but thought you might want to mention it yourself.
ReplyDeleteI'm never going to a party again either. All I'm doing from now on is eating vegetables at home.
I would just like to point it the unlikelihood of that statement, Annie dear. I seem to remember you resolving stay on the infamous wagon for a bit sometime earlier this year. That lasted all of a weekend (or a half), didn't it? I foresee you coming out to party next weekend.
ReplyDeleteBut for the sake of your britishness we'll try to leave the topless parties for some other time.
The way I feel now I really don't care if I don't see another beer until September.
ReplyDeleteAnother breast on the other hand...
But the seeing of these two things more often than not goes hand in hand (breast in beer?).
ReplyDeletea breast in the hand is worth two in the beer??
ReplyDeleteam i understanding this correctly?
I can't do that...!! I'm English..!!
ReplyDeleteOh how many men I've heard say those words.
A topless party? I wish I had thought of that.
ReplyDeleteYeah, except you'd 1 million get extra points for holding it in Antarctica.
ReplyDeleteA topless party?! Sounds like a stripper bash to me!
ReplyDelete