You know your girl is happy with her job when the last words you hear are: “”I’ll be home by 8″”. 8pm, that is, and that was at around 4.30pm. Now it’s 1.30am, I haven’t heard from her since and can’t decide whether to be in deep sorrow or simply pissed. Some girl has left the agency for another job, and they wanted to have a couple of beers for farewell, so I rather tend to be pissed, because she didn’t tell me it would be late. She could have told me that without me getting pissed. Still, she said eight o’clock. Waited with dinner, the whole “”feel-like-a-housewife”"-program. Ah, whatever. I’ll hit the Reeperbahn in a minute with my man Ben Wes.

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