Breakfast in Edinburgh

I was having breakfast, in the hotel, on a Sunday morning. Sitting next to me were two young women from Northern England. They were attending a Hen Party and recounting and analyzing the events of the previous evening. Over the course of their conversation a couple of older women came by the table and inquired about the evening. The younger women noted that everyone else turned in early and they were left to their own devices.

We had acknowledged each other with good mornings when they sat at the table next to mine. The young woman to my immediate left, a blonde wearing white jean and a black top, was in her mid to late 20s. She looked ready to hit the pubs again, rather than having a morning after. Her breakfast companion, sitting across the table, a brunette with a pink top and black yoga pants, was of a similar age. I am pretty sure neither woman was wearing their natural hair color. (too blonde, too dark)

I was engrossed in the morning’s news, note really paying attention, until I heard the brunette opine, “I really like that boy…”

The blonde quickly finished her thought: “The one who sucked your face?” and chuckled. There was a momentary lull in their conversation. I glanced over and smiled, and the blonde caught my eye and gave me a knowing look.

After a few minutes, the brunette got up to get another croissant. The blond looked me in the eye, smiled broadly, and shook her head ever so slightly. When her companion returned, she was situating herself in the chair and said, longingly, “I really like that Irish boy from last night…”