The other night at an ironical prom, we met a young man, very dashing in regimentals, with whom we ended up going to a sinister and exclusive Weimar-esque club. We ended up having to leave without saying goodbye, and I wrote with my regrets, since he is now across the pond. Anyway, here's what I received:
I'm the most dreadful cad for leaving you and your chap amidst the vespertine fray, but I'd managed to disgrace the queen's uniform by throwing up the best part of a sloppy joe in the stairwell, only to be asked back in by the manager and force fed tequila ad infinitum. Insensible with drinking on a now empty stomach I had to admit defeat without the good grace to say goodnight to the pair of you, or even locate my missing spur.