This is my lovely friend Erica.
She has a Look. A powerful, wet your knickers kind of Look. A don’t mess with me or I’ll bloody take your head off Look.
This is that Look.
The Spanish barman was wholly unimpressed with our demands for “mojitos, more mojitos” every night as his meagre stash of mint was rapidly diminishing and he contemplated the time it would take him to prepare 5 cocktails.
It may have been the fact that poor Fernando – yes, I know – was on duty behind the bar every night. It may have been the fact that Laura kept humming “there was something in the air that night . . . “ every time we walked in. Or it may have just been the fact that he was a grumpy sod who failed to raise a smile the whole time we were there.
Who knows, but one night he simply said ‘no’. Or “NON mojitos” in his gruffest, I’m throughly cheesed off with you lot voice when we placed our order.
Crushed. We were crushed. And deflated.
We needed alcohol so we ordered some green banana-flavoured thing and instantly regretted. We should have know really, as it was the only time that whole weekend a smile flickered at the corners of Fernando’s lips.
So, not to be beaten, Erica and I opted for a hot chocolate to wind our last evening there down.
I mean hot chocolate in a posh hotel: What can be nicer?
Out comes Fernando with our drinks – a mug of hot milk and a packet of Nesquik.
And it may have been the contents of that green cocktail frying my brain, but I swear I heard him mutter under his breath “make your own f**king chocolate”.
(Note the flying cocktail to Erica’s right? No, I’ve no idea either and I took the photo!)
This post is for Week 32 of The Gallery: Show Me the Funny.
Did I also mention there is a prize?
For the person who makes me chuckle the most I have £50 worth of Marks & Spencer vouchers provided by Appliances Online (who sell fridge freezers, washing machines etc).
And no, posting pictures of your kids climbing into the fridge is not going to curry favour.
(Sorry but prize is for UK entrants only).