I've read about Toxic Batchelors, but I'd never met one before.
His name was Justin, and he's a dancer/entertainer. Next week he's off to entertain the troops in Darfur, so I figured it was my patriotic duty to give him a soldier's farewell.
The next day, he woke up giggling, and I woke up covered in a rash. From the neck down, throbbing red spots. That itched. Clearly some kind of allergic reaction.
"S'okay babes," he said, "If we keep the curtains closed we can still-"
"That's not the point!" I yelled. Although, actually, he had a war to dance through, and it's going to be a while before I'm going out with a complexion you could charitably call "marbled".
After he'd gone, I popped into Queen St Boots. The counter diva pouted. "You again?"
Checking the leaflet on my antibiotics, the only side-effect I have left to experience is sudden kidney failure.