This past weekend, I was lucky enough to attend a party which was — for lack of a better word — a meat-market. Except at events like pro-wrestling nights at the pub, it is fairly rare for a woman to find herself in a social situation where men outnumber women ten to one.
Not even Comic-Con has those odds.
And unlike sporting events at the pub (those rare times that the men are far too involved with the flat-screen to take notice of any nearby boobage), this party was supposed to be a normal social event where the opposite sexes are expected to mingle and parlay.
Naturally, I thought that I had hit the jackpot.
I thought that my girlfriends and I could just waltz in, sit down, and hold court as these young man-things paid us tribute. After all, with the free-flowing alcohol, the healthy amount of weed floating around, the absence of an Xbox, and no rugby match on telly, what else could possibly happen?
As it turns out, I could not have been farther from the truth.
I’m there for barely five minutes before Mr. Tweedledum. He told me to hold absolutely still for about five minutes so that he could inspect and photograph my ass. My ass did look pretty good, but come on, the whole incident still registered a 7.9 on the strange-o-meter.
On the other hand, Mr. Tweedledee thought that he was soooo smooth. Little did he know that I have had plenty of practice deciphering the kind of cliché male double-speak that guys think is suave at four in the morning.
- “When I saw you from across the room, I immediately knew that you are a charismatic person.” (I saw you standing there and noticed that you are hot.)
- “With your charisma, I thought that we would get along.” (I’m thinking that you might want to have sex with me.)
- “I like your bling.” (I like how that necklace shows off your boobs.)
- “The collar of your top is so interesting.” (I like how that collar shows off your boobs.)
- “I’ve never seen a blouse made of that material before.” (Will you let me touch your boobs?)
But Mr. Tweedledimwit was an unmitigated disaster. He used the following 12-step courtship process:
- Lock eyes with girl from across the room.
- Freak out when she smiles at you.
- Hover behind girl and look off into the distance until the awkwardness takes over, and someone is forced to include you in conversation.
- Refuse to look at target girl and address all girls in conversation except her.
- When target girl engages you in conversation, sex her up by discussing the most recent article you read about Doogie Howser.
- Walk away while she tries to come up a response.
- Drink until you’re stupid.
- Come back a couple hours later and attempt to have a normal getting-to-know-you conversation.
- Say that her job sounds intimidating.
- Walk away.
- “Run into” her at the food table and take her brownie from her plate.
- Leave party.
Clearly, the man who wrote this 12-step program was an idiot.
So at five in the morning, my girls and I finally decided to throw in the towel. I almost pity the two women that stayed behind with that sorry lot.
We had left them with a couple dozen of the most hapless fools in Paris.
Next, next and NEXT!