"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."

"I was."

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?"

Blink. Blink-blink.

"What?"

"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.

Success.

krittabug