Coffee cup bits

I found myself at a party last summer, woefully stoned (no surprise
there, I hear you sigh). It was after the band played a gig
in London. One of those parties you're never
quite sure how you came to be there, but you're there all
the same.

I knew no one, and no one seemed to know me. I just
wandered around in a dope daze, observing the absurdity of
people.

Anyway, I happened upon a gaggle of awfully, awfully nice
young Trustafarian girls standing, chatting in a circle
with some bleach blonde Aussie dude. 

“Well, Sarah and I were in the Dominican Republic last year,” one
of the babes said. “We had lunch on this boat thingy going up
a river.You know the same river they used for that film Full
Metal Jacket?”

“Apocalypse Now,” corrected the bleach blonde Aussie dude.

“No. I’m sure they said it was Full Metal Jacket.” 

“Well, they were wrong. Apocalypse Now.” 

The bleach blonde Australian dude took a swig of his beer. What
an arrogant twat, I did surmise.

“Well, anyway,” the girl said, picking up her thread. “We had
to wait a bit for a table and then, when one was free, instead of
clearing everything away for us, the waiter just swept the crumbs
off the table into the river, wiped the knives, forks and the
plates off on his dirty apron and put them back down on
the table for us. Disgusting.”

The bleach blonde Aussie dude chipped in again.

“Well, I’ve heard ingesting a few germs now and
then is actually quite good for you. Helps keep
the old defence mechanism on its toes. Modern life
is so sterile these days, most of us are hardly ever exposed to
the real germ world, are we? The human immune system is
going to pack up and go on holiday if we’re not bloody careful.” 

He took a final mighty swig from his beer can, crushed it in his right
hand and held it out at arm’s length, for observation. 

Oh a twat he was, but I was fascinated. Couldn't keep my eyes off.

Then this jolly enthusiastic gingery-haired English girl piped up
in a cut glass accent.

“Yah, I just can’t see what all this fuss
about hygiene is either. I mean, for gawd sake, I use
the same cloth to clean my bits as I do my coffee cups.” 

Images of her doing the washing up, stopping occasionally
to scrub her own gingery private parts with the cloth hit
me, like a frying pan in the face. 

Instant and uncontrollable laughter, lager burst out of my
mouth, out of my nose right over people. 

Turns out I was the only person there with no idea she
worked at a horse stables and the ‘bits’ she was referring to
were in fact of the equestrian kind. 

The jolly enthusiastic gingery-haired girl looked around at me
nonplussed as I fell to my knees, stomach muscles gripped
with mirth.

She asked if someone could please explain what
was so funny. 

The bleach blonde Aussie casually spelt it out for her.

“Oh, please. How immature.”

That's me!