The other night we decided to catch a film at the cinema. (Captain America, don't waste your money). Becca was on her mini-honeymoon and had left us to our own devices, which meant we didn't know which taxi service to get, so we ended up with some Chinese man that didn't speak any sort of English -- especially American English. We piled into his small sedan and headed to the theatre, only, and he dropped us off at the grocery store across the street. We loaded up on candy and pop and I wondered if it would be more or less difficult to sneak it all in.
It was easier. Actually, it turns out that you can hit up the bar outside the theatre and you can carry your beer bottles in. Cool. The guy selling the popcorn informed us that they "don't do butter" which turned out to be smart -- the actual auditoriums were spotless and carpeted. No sticky feet!
The movie was terrible.
Afterwards, we headed out and tried to find a taxi, but they had all switched off their lights and we were out of luck. The guys were getting incredibly nervous because right next to the theatre, there were a few night clubs -- gay night clubs. And they were overflowing with sailors and flamboyant men.
The people in Edinburgh are sort of terrible drunks. Josh and Jason were commended because they knew when to quit drinking, whereas their Scottish counterparts, continue to drink until they are staggering down the middle of the road in 6-inch heels and leopard print leggings. I wonder how many girls go into the hospital with broken ankles. Seriously.
We headed on down the road, and were probably only a mile or so away from Rebecca's apartment, but it seemed quite a long walk especially because Roberta -- the poor dear -- was hobbling with pain in her ankles, knees, back and neck. We were walking pretty slowly, which made Roberta feel like a target for all the crazy people on the road. She clinged to her son's arm and I was supposed to take Josh's. Only, Josh didn't actually offer his arm to me, so I let him walk ahead as if he were my bodyguard, instead of my escort. No big deal.
When we finally hit Dean Bridge and started down the hill into Dean Village, Roberta was using the hand rail and we came across a slug. Because of the wet climate, snails and slugs are pretty prominent around here, but usually underfoot, and not on the hand railing. Anyway, Roberta decided to flick the thing, and it went flying, somehow, forward. Onto my wrist.
I'm not normally a panicky person, although, maybe I really am because it seems like every other day, I'm writing up some experience where I'm doing the heebie-jeebie dance... this was no exception. The boys, who were dying from being so held back by our slow pace, turned around and watched me shriek while Roberta bent at the waist and nearly peed her pants.