I didn’t want to go out. I wanted to stay in and revel in my misery, but my friend was insistent. Having recently split up with my girlfriend, the last thing I wanted to do was go out and party. My friend tried every trick in the book to persuade me to go out and eventually, against my better judgment, I acquiesced. That first conversation set the tone for the rest of the evening.
We met a few friends from college in a bar and had a few drinks. My melancholy softened, but never entirely went away. It was ever there in the background throbbing away like toothache. As the night wore on, someone suggested we extend the revelry by paying a visit to the local night club, The Living Room. Again, like a reluctant mule, I dug my heels in.
I stood with my arms crossed and slowly said “I am NOT going to the Living Room”.
Everyone in the group looked at me. My friend came over, put his arm around me and again tried to persuade me to tag along. I explained that the place would remind me of her, my ex. Even as the words came out, I felt the misery rise from inside me, threatening to tumble out in tears. Again, my friend used his silver tongue to win me round. Eventually, against my better judgment, I acquiesced.
There was only one table big enough for us all to sit round in the nightclub. It was a large square surrounded by a padded horseshoe seat. My friend and I sat to one side of the horseshoe. We must have looked like the two masks of drama. He was in his element. I was drowning in sorrow. The music pulsed around us, making conversation difficult.
“What do you think of her?” My friend asked.
On the opposite side of the horseshoe sat a girl I went to college with. Her doe like expression was surrounded by a flock of blonde hair. She was pretty, but did nothing to dispel the notion of dumb blondes. Alongside her sat her very plain-looking companion.
“I assume you mean Donna” I said, indicating my college friend.
He nodded and went on to explain that the slow dances would be on any minute. He wanted me to ask the plain girl for a slow dance leaving the way clear for him to ask Donna.
“No way.” I said.
Right on cue, the first slow record came on and couples started sloping off to the dance floor. My friend continued in his quest to persuade me. I continued to resist. The record finished and another came on. My friend went on and on until…
Eventually, I acquiesced. I stood, leaned across the table and asked the plain girl if she’d like to dance. She looked me up and down and said;
I stood dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe it – No?? Before my brain could kick in and stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth, I spluttered;
“You can’t be that fussy!”
By this time, Donna realised what was underway and started whispering in her friend’s ear. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but it was obvious she was trying to persuade her to accept my offer. Eventually, she acquiesced and we made our way onto the dance floor for the most awkward slow dance I’ve ever had. I think we were both thankful for the fact that it didn’t last long.
On the way home, I remembered the events of the evening. For the first time since the break up, I laughed out loud.
- “A letter to fussy & cluttered life.” (pragyab.wordpress.com)
- My Fussy Eater (theyogichousewife.wordpress.com)
- Marilyn Monroe: Do I feel happy in life? (ramblingpainter.wordpress.com)
- My Toddler Is A Fussy Eater (miniskirtandspittingup.wordpress.com)
- The Dance (michellemarieantellg.wordpress.com)
- Curious Questions #2: Are blondes really stupid? (knockedoverbyafeather.wordpress.com)
- Dumb blonde? (ymaynard.wordpress.com)
- Fussy Hour! (momma411.wordpress.com)
- Fussy Fussy Fussy baby! (stdomsmoms.wordpress.com)