"Why are you so quiet and shy?" asked some short, creepy character at a bar on Saturday night.
I spun around. Is it entirely possible to know just by looking at me that I am both shy and quiet? Is there a sign on my back? Better yet, do I scream, "Please, Creepy Man. Please come interrupt my people watching"?
"Because I am," I replied. And quickly turned my back, giving my girl friend the eye. Girl Code for: Help. She didn't help.
"You were raised on a farm."
Question mark? Did he just say that? A farm ? Really?
"No I wasn't."
"Yes you were."
"No I wasn't."
And now I am completely dumbfounded. Is this what I get for agreeing to stand next to the bar at a loud, sweaty dance club, where all around me underage white trash are thrusting pelvises and making out?
"Good for you," I replied. Still giving the eye.
"So, um, are you, like, looking for a boyfriend? Or, do you want to dance? Or hang out?"
"Do you like men?"
Do I like men? Is this how boys are doing it these days? No more of the, "Can I buy you a drink?" They don't slip Roofies into our rum and Cokes anymore? They simply question our sexuality?
Thank you, God. Thank you for ending my singledom.
And then I did it. The thing I've been yearning to do since it was placed on my finger 10 months ago. I raised my left hand. I stuck my engagement ring in his face. And I said, "Yes, I like men."
And that's when his tail went between his legs, and he ran away. Back to the farm.