Party on

Once at Cornell I went to a party. Some badminton semi-pals of mine were DJing. Actually, those chaps got on my nerves. But I was fed up with myself. So I tooled along. I went up to this dimly lit loft were they were holding this do. It didn't need any lights, the noise (substituting for music) was loud enough. I thought they were trying to perforate my eardrums with particularly blunt chopsticks. It was then that I saw this trim little guy across the dance floor. Boogeying his rear into the ground. Our eyes locked, and I floated a hello across the floor.

No, don't jump to conclusions just yet.

Then because I refuse to grind, I parked my behind in a particularly comfortable chair, and decided to wait out the customary half-hour before you can slide an excuse to your hosts and get the hell out. My excuse for this evening had something to do with a forgotten and fragile pressure cooker on the stove. Anyway, I decided to pass the while by watching this pretty boy dancing on the floor. I had particular interest in this pretty boy, and his partner added infinite interest, if only because of a particularly hilarious story I had heard about her. Scouts honour guys. It seemed that I wasn't entirely devoid of interest, for pretty boy frequently sneaked glances at me.

Lovely. Just what unattached bachelors need. Attention.

Then he leaves dancing, and amazingly, his partner, and starts on a long circulatory route through odour-spewing dancing demons towards me. Hallelujah. Well, I wasn't astonished. To certain perspectives, I am better looking than most women. In fact, I went through most of my life being frequently mistaken for a girl. Right up until a beard broke through. In Scotland I could have kept up the charade longer.

I digress.

The pretty lad finally sidles up to me armed with a charming little smile.

"Hi, I don't believe we have met, I am J."
"Actually we have J. We were in the same class a couple of semesters ago."

Why the hell did you think I waved to you when I came in. Shit, I hope you didn't think that I...
I should have known. Actually, I did know about J's alternate tastes, but just didn't think the whole thing through before waving five fingers, all together, at him.
But hey, just because I ain't good with lasses doesn't mean that I aim to be good with the boys
Hell!
No, wait, this has comic potential.

The lovely boy's smile starts crumpling like so much paper. But, he is fighter this lad. He strives.

"So, do you come to such parties often."
"Only to ones with interesting people."

Nasty Sharma.

"Would you like to dance?"

This guy is a real hotstepper. Time to let the air out of a ballooning romance.

"Just waiting for some girl to take an interest."

That smile was evaporating fast. It was dangling by a mere shoestring by now.

"Well, I am sure you will be Ok. I was just on my way to the bar. Nice to meet you. I thought you looked familiar."

Yeah, sure. That would work, but my mamma didn't grow no dumb boys.

"Nice to meet you too."
Again.

It was time to start throwing around chit-chat about pressurized cookers.