Good Morning Dispassionate Urbanites,
Well I had an interesting evening last night. Some would even say ‘swanky’ as ole zuki donned a tuxedo. I shared my good fortune with the lifeless curmudgeons at the bar, and of course since there was nothing going on in their own pathetic lives they turned my good luck into one of their homosexual fantasies. It was sort of weird.
I’d forgotten how good I look in a tux, although this time the cummerbund wasn’t fastened like a jock strap! I was invited to attend the “Harvest Moon Ball”. This little soiree’ was sponsored by a singles group offering spots for 400 women and 400 men 35 years or older held at the downtown Marriott. The black tie affair cost me $175 not including the $100 for the tux rental; a bit steep given my impecuniousness.
But what the hell, it’s not every day I get to mix it up with Denver’s single upper crust. Plus the proceeds go to “Camp Fire USA.” I’m not sure, but I think it’s the PC version of the Camp Fire Girls! Good God, I’m giving money to Camp Fire Girls and little boys that want to be CFG! I suspect there’ll be no end to it in my lifetime, so I straightened my bow tie, took another critical look in the mirror and with a wink headed out the door.
Ironically given my dress and the nature of my trip I couldn’t help but feel lessened somehow letting myself in through the passenger side door to unlock the driver’s side. I got over this ongoing indignity and headed downtown listening to the hard driving blues of Buddy Miles goin’ through “Them Changes.” I pulled into valet parking and ignored the shit eating smirk from the kid taking my keys, and decided not to tell him about the passenger side door; “fuck him” I thought, the little asshole brought it on himself!
Invitation in hand I confidently strode into the hotel following the welcome signs up the escalator to the City Center Ballroom that housed the “Harvest Moon Ball.” It was the first time anyone actually collected my invitation. I hardly noticed the person as I stared with mouth agape! Countless evening gowns with shinny women were everywhere! I saw more cleavage than a stroll down the beach! I must say everything was first class and was immediately offered a shrimp cocktail.
Everyone looked fabulous! But to tell the truth I was feeling a wee bit intimidated. I’d dripped a big glob of shrimp cocktail sauce after a double-dip and the water stain hadn’t yet dried leaving a dark wet spot on my jacket. I told myself I’d been through formal affairs before and had performed brilliantly so gird up your loins, and in the words of one of our own, “I’m going in!”
It was supposed to be a singles event, but it seemed to me most had coupled up. It was my first ‘singles’ event and I quickly learned the meaning of ‘snooze you lose.’ Odds being stacked against me anyways I approached a woman that looked to be in her mid to late forties (you never know these days given the magic of plastic) chatting with two other women. She was stunning. She wore a floor length black gown with a neckline offering a generous view of her succulent goodies combined with a long slit down the side that flashed agonizingly brief glimpses of her long toned legs. I immediately morphed into ‘Cliff Claven.’ I couldn’t have anticipated spitting an unusually large sliver of shrimp that hit her chin while asking her to dance!
Abject horror best describes the look on her face at being snapped from what was probably a pleasant conversation with friends to being blindsided by a piece of shrimp launched from the same source as my introduction. She brushed the ‘ickky’ away as if it were a spider and immediately shook her head “no” turning her back on me to emphasize her reply. Seconds later the three women broke out in hysterical laughter glancing back at me as I looked for a crack to crawl into.
I thought this sort of thing was left at the high school gym not at this point in life! It was like being sixteen all over again! All I could do is draw upon the only response that saved face in those days. I got the unfortunate woman’s attention and said, “That’s okay, I had to take a shit anyway;” did a military about face and walked away.
The little bastard valet finally brought my car around and purposely held the door open telling me about my broken door handle. I was prepared with a $5 tip but noticed he’d adopted the same condescending smirk and asked, “early evening sir?” I pocketed the fiver and jumped in offering the universal gesture with a smirk of my own.
All in all though I highly recommend the shrimp cocktail!