What is it about the promise of a Saturday night booty call that can end up in such disappointment? It must lay somewhere between the expectation of momentary bliss and overall next day glow of a really good shag. We put some seriously high hopes in those moments between the sheets – as if just that one night can cure a really bad work week, a month’s long sexual dry run or even a year’s worth of self-imposed celibacy. That’s just too much pressure to put on anyone.  But as girls do, and ladies we do, if that Saturday night booty call wasn’t any good – poor guy – word gets around. Sympathy for the friend ensues with a “O God I’m so sorry you had to experience that!” and a quick deletion of his phone number forever erases the bad memory (at least from the mobile).  The guy is tossed as useless and therefore ceases to serve a function as anybody’s booty call henceforth. It’s a sad situation, really, all the way round and it’s not as if it’s his fault (entirely), but if he can’t deliver the goods on that one occasion when we happen to be drunk and really horny – that what good is he?  After a booty call let down, this guy is not even worthy of fixing the leaky toilet, or wiring up the new flat screen or changing the oil on our car. O for shame, he’s not even worthy of quick cup of coffee on his way out the door!