06
Dec
08

Were you kissing Sheila outside a Supermacs in Cork?

I was awoken this morning by the strangest phone call I’ve recieved in years. First off, the phone rang and when I answered it a young woman said, “hang on a minute,” and hung up.

Having just woken up my mind wasn’t the clearest, and I was somewhat stunned by what just happened. I was considering calling her back to find out who she was and what was going on, when suddenly the phone rings again not two minutes later. The call went something like this:

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Damien?”

“Ahh, yeah.”

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Who’s this?”

“It’s Sheila.”

Keep in mind that I don’t know a Sheila. I didn’t even know girls are still called Sheila these days. Perhaps realising my silence represented my still-sleepy brain searching every file in my head for a ‘Sheila’, the girl in question decided to elaborate.

“You were kissing me outside Supermacs last night.”

This threw me into a real tail-spin. With the benefit of complete awareness, I know for sure that I did not leave my house last night. But in my morning haze, I almost had to accept the possibility that I was snogging the face off some Sheila outside some Supermacs someplace.

Thankfully, I managed to wake myself up and realise what had happened. Obviously some playa gave this girl – by accident or design – and incorrect phone number that just happened to correspond to mine. But that doesn’t explain why she asked for me by name. Seemingly, the guy Sheila was kissing has the same name as the guy she would later mistakenly phone believing to be the actual kisser. This is just too much of a coincidence to accept.

A couple of people have suggested that someone I know deliberately gave her my name and number for a laugh. However, I asked her where she is and she said Cork. The only person I know in Cork is my sister in UCC. Now I suppose it’s possible that my sister is going around kissing strange girls outside chippers. I don’t know her business. But I’m sure Sheila would have realised she was being lied to if my sister told her her name is Damien, and even still she should have realised I’m not my sister when she spoke to me this morning.

This is truly one for the ages. I won’t be figuring it out any time soon. What I would like to know, however, is why Sheila saw fit to call so soon. I realise one doesn’t want to let love slip away, but calling when ‘Damien’ is probably still suffering a hangover is the wrong side of stalkerage. Still, if you were the person snogging a Sheila in outside a Supermacs in Cork and you’d like to take it further. Contact me and I’ll sort something out.

I should also add that I owe Sheila a favour. My alarm clock failed to wake me and I probably would have slept it in on the first day of my new shitty job had she not called.

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