7am...he left with my socks and my maraca

I painted the guest room tonight (it's costing me a lot to write this in english- I keep having to go back and translate it, since I've been speaking nothing but Spanish all night). Um- at 3am, I had just finished painting and my flatmate was about to go to bed when she got a phone call. I heard, "No, I'm still awake. No, everyone except Willow and I are asleep. No, that's fine, but see, she's JUST finished painting the guest room this moment. No, just painting this very moment. Well, he can sleep on the sofa, no problem. Yes, come. Yes, I'm here. Ok, I'll tell her. Apartment 4D..." Apparently, her exclusive-but-non-boyfriend of the last year was drunk and had somehow left his keys in another city (something about him coming to a party with a person from another city, leaving his keys in said car and then their leaving). He'd also promised someone else that that someone could crash at his house.

The exclusive non-boyfriend asked if I could stay up, cause his (drunk) friend wanted to say thank you personally for letting him sleep here. (humph).

Nice enough. Was hanging with my flatmate mainly. there was some dancing (because the drunk friend postulated that he could dance like a Cuban- incidentally, he can't- but he can dance basically). My flatmate and I were singing and harmonizing with my guitar and about to go to bed when drunk friend postulated that he thought he was man enough for the amount of spice I put on my food. I knew he wasn't. He insisted....and few things get me more worked up than food, so I went into the kitchen and started a sauce for salsa. I only put about 8 cayenne peppers in it.

Needless to say, he was unable to eat it and took back all former postulations about how he liked spicy food, etc. (I had a bowl half the size of his and had to add 3 cayenne peppers to it).

What I can't explain- is that at some point in the evening he was falling all over how wonderful my socks were (they were booties, black, with white polka dots)...Not knowing how to take a sock compliment, I jokingly said, "Take them, they're yours". ....upon which he DID. The rest of the night, he'd pull them out as a joke, rub them against his face or reference them in conversation. My flatmate said, "Dude, I think you've lost your socks." Apparently I had.

Later, he was postulating what a great percussionist he is, so I pulled out my maraca. (I only had one because my former flatmate, Juan2 was really drunk one party and decide to juggle my maracas, which he then proceeded to drop on the floor, breaking one and leaving me with one.) Flatmate and non-boyfriend went to bed, and I was cooking too spicy food for said friend.

When I finally announced that he should go- he tucked my maraca in his pants pocket with my socks. I don't know why.
All I know is that I've now lost both maracas and one of my favourite pairs of socks.

What an odd night!