No matter she'd already been in Scotland for two days. No matter I'd already explained the rules of Scottish dress code. No matter she'd already seen Glaswegian evening life. The Saturday night queue still had friend A.'s eyes attempting to leave her head.
But even though in the church-turned-pub we seemed remnants of the past by relatively looking like nuns, we were still two women in a pub featuring drunk men. Such as an American whose goodbye to Scotland consisted of donning a kilt and talking to women. Or the guy kindly asking our permission to spend time with us because the party he was with unexpectedly included his ex. Or the man too busy being funny to remember what drink he was supposed to get his girlfriend. Or the ever grinning guy who used the fact that shoulders are close to ears to lean on the one while shouting in the other. Or the guy who explained that our bodies produce vinegar when drunk.
Which explains a lot.
But even though in the church-turned-pub we seemed remnants of the past by relatively looking like nuns, we were still two women in a pub featuring drunk men. Such as an American whose goodbye to Scotland consisted of donning a kilt and talking to women. Or the guy kindly asking our permission to spend time with us because the party he was with unexpectedly included his ex. Or the man too busy being funny to remember what drink he was supposed to get his girlfriend. Or the ever grinning guy who used the fact that shoulders are close to ears to lean on the one while shouting in the other. Or the guy who explained that our bodies produce vinegar when drunk.
Which explains a lot.
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