Thursday, May 3, 2018

Another Party Fail

A couple weeks ago we had a friend over for dinner. His name is Light Brown James Bond. Light Brown James Bond is sickeningly handsome, has a sickeningly beautiful wife, and several sickeningly talented and gorgeous children. Light Brown James Bond's house is always clean, with tasteful art hung on the walls, expensive carpets on the floor, and a rack in the bathroom containing a programme from every single production the royal opera house has ever staged. Light Brown James Bond never swears, always smells good, and probably remembers to register his car and renew the insurance on time every year.

Despite the fact that Stone and I are basically the exact opposite of him, Light Brown James Bond lets us be friends with him and is one of my absolute favorite people here. Light Brown James Bond is also my absolute favorite employee of MI6, let alone any other secret intelligence service.

Light Brown James Bond knows the real identities and darkest secrets of every single blogger who has ever thought of touching a keyboard in Muscat, and immediately pointed out that I hadn't blogged in one year, three weeks, and 2 days at the time of his visit. I promised to do better, so here goes.

This is a story about going to a party.

We got invited to a party last month. All the cool kids were going, and I love the hostess, and there was a lot of free booze, and we were allowed to take the kid, and free dinner. So we went.

Stone and the kid immediately fell into peer groups, making conversation and laughing. I had several conversations with people I couldn't remember meeting, but whom I have known well for years, apparently. I also had several large beers, and no food, because eating in front of strangers makes me super nervous.

Eventually, there was an open seat at the table where the smokers were sitting so I moseyed over and lit a cigarette. There were about a dozen really cool women around the table, all artsy types, all impossibly pretty, all with posh accents. We are engaging in the usual small talk, how do you know the host, where are you from, why are you here, how long will you be staying, etc... ANd for once everything is going really well. People are laughing at my jokes, I'm engaging in polite conversation.

WOULD YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME I AM AT THE COOL GIRL'S TABLE WITH THE COOL GIRLS AND I BELONG HERE!

But then things got kind of weird.

This girl across the table from me says "Hey Suburban! I love your Boobs! They are fantastic!"

And I'm thinking ... um, you like my Boobs? Shit, what do I do now? that's so weird. What kind of party is this? Oh god, this cool girl is staring at me waiting for me to reply... Fuck it, I'll return the compliment...

So I take a deep breath, and reply with great excitement " I love your breasts too! They are so perky!"

The table falls silent. Everybody is looking at me.

The girl across the table says "Your BOOTS. I really like your Cowboy BOOTS."

Whoops.

"Oh, I did think that seemed like a weird compliment... But you do have really nice breasts!"

Just once, I'd like to go to a party and seem normal. Sigh. 



2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I am Dead. thanks for the laugh.

Anonymous said...

Post a picture of the boots and the boobs and let the audience decide...