Going to a Party?

For us, the weekend was little different from the rest of the week. I'd hang out with Heather for awhile, we'd have some fun, she'd express some annoyance with my current deadbeat attitude, she'd get tired, I'd go home and play video games with the guys until we passed out. Bliss. Being fashionably unpopular, we weren't bothered by invitations to parties or events or anything.

Heather was not quite at such a low social level as I. While not by any means a member of the elite, she would speak to people and make friends and basically all the things I couldn't be bothered with doing at that point. She would get invited to parties. I never wanted to go. Occasionally I'd make some excuse to get out of it. More often than not, I'd do that 'no complaints but dragging my feet' sort of thing that men like to do when they are trying to avoid both a fight and doing something they don't want to do. I'd end up not having clean enough clothes or I'd 'lose track of time' doing my schoolwork and she'd end up going with one of her girlfriends. When I did go, I'd be quiet because I had no one I wanted to talk to. For awhile she stopped inviting me. She didn't argue with me, didn't speak her mind about it so, being the dimwit I was, I thought everything was fine.

I have no clue why she bothered to put up with me at this point. I must have been a horrible boyfriend. My guess is that she saw this as a phase I was going through that I would snap out of sooner or later.

This situation came to a head when Heather got invited to Carol Allen's party in November of that year. Carol was in the social elite of the school and, therefore, mostly unknown to me. She was this pretty but vapid blond gal that had a boyfriend on the big football team in Madison and the party was for him for some game he'd done well in or something. I like football but college football leaves me cold. I hadn't seen the game or cared about it. I was even less interested in going when I heard that I was expected to dress 'nice'. Not 'up', not 'fancy', just 'nice'. Business casual. This went against all my slacker principals. I declined. Heather just looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and left.

Ten minutes later, the 'As' attacked me verbally. It could have been worse. They'd thrown things at me before. The 'As' were the young ladies that lived next door to Heather in the dorm: Abigail and Angela. They explained in language simple enough for me to understand that I was working my way out of my boyfriend position with this attitude and that going to this party was Important. Once they got the guilty look on my face, they knew they had me. So that I couldn't change my mind or forget, I was marched to Heather's room in order to declare my intent to go. Once I reassured her that this would happen, she was very happy indeed. Her smile was bright and genuine. She hugged me without pausing to consider my smell. She began talking excitedly about what we'd need to do to prepare.

Even though the As gave me a thumbs-up and a 'good boy' grin, my heart was sinking. At this point it occurred to me that I'd have to buy some khaki pants and that seemed like too much of an adult thing to do. I was sad.

Our Tale of Woe Begins

Cast your mind back, to a long past time. There's a different President. No one had heard of the band Maxi Starr so it was also a better time. We all thought that the Verdant 'Venger was dead. And a man for that matter. I am in college.

I have hair to my collar. My sideburns are super bushy and are connected by a thin beard. I am super skinny, just a shade above skeletal. I have a dozen t-shirts, which I cycle through in order, wearing them until either I can't stand them anymore or, more often, my girlfriend gets sick of them and washes them for me. I am a sophomore. I am lazy. I am an idiot.

Freshman year both wore me out and made me 'smart'. I felt I'd figured out how to schedule my classes so that I could get my work done and still have plenty of free time. This free time left me comfortable and lead me to figure out what I could get away with skipping. In this I had the help of my good friends Scott and Mike. I watched movies, played video games, drank tons of soda, and spent time with Heather. Schoolwork was secondary. I was having a great time mortgaging my future. All was well.

Except for Eric.

You might remember Eric. Excitable fellow. Grand plans for himself. Freshman year we were buddied. He was crazy but I've never minded some crazy in and of itself. Goodness knows I'm not exactly normal by most people's definition. Sophomore year he freaked out on us. His initial argument was that our more casual attitude towards our schoolwork did not fit in with his plans for the future. This soon twisted and mutated into a quest to show my girlfriend that I was no longer worthy of her and that she should leave me behind for a more suitable companion, namely, himself. He embarked on a campaign to humiliate me, somehow figuring she'd be impressed with how clever he was instead of viewing him as some childish idiot, which she did. Considering I was already impressively idiotic at this point and she was still with me, I don't know what he thought would be enough to accomplish his goal.

Still, he tried. Boy did he try.

Storytime

After departing Natalie's company, I collected myself a beer and went to join Scott and Sarah Jean at the grill. I was rebuffed. “Go and mingle,” Scott declared.

“I would like to have an opportunity to defend myself,” I responded.

Scott gestured mightily. “Go!” I complied. Scott is a big fella. Sarah Jean giggled at me as I walked away. Whatever.

The backyard had pockets of conversation. The seating had been arranged in an attempt to keep everyone together but the group was too big for that to work. The group had splintered into a half-dozen or so smaller groups chit-chatting away. When I saw the man in the lawn-chair sheltering in the shade of a large tree, I approached him. Grinning, I noted “I thought you were allergic to the sun.”

Mike looked up from the plate balanced in his lap, squinting at me. “There's a reason I'm under the tree ya know.”

Our conversation started with this good natured silliness. We quickly ran through a few standard comments, the 'been awhile', the 'good to see you', the 'answer your email occasionally' sorts of things. Once these were complete, Mike observed “I see you're still with the redhead. Excellent choice my friend. Admittedly she's at a distance right now but she looks hotter than I remember.”

“I don't know how you remember her but she is hotter than that.”

“And yet she hangs out with a slug like you,” he teased.

“Yeah, I don't get it either,” I joked in response. “How goes the writing?”

He gave me a Look. “We start filming next week. Dude, read your email.”

“Really?” He nodded. “I'm sorry, I dunno how I missed that. Been busy.”

“I'm sure you have been,” he responded. “I would be. If you gotta skip some of my notes in order to be busy with her then I understand totally. I'll write more for you to skip! I'm not like that!”

I found his rant entertaining until Sarah Jean began bounding our way. At that point, it suddenly became less entertaining. For some reason, I was afraid she'd hear him, which was silly. If she wanted to, she could pick it out of my mind. In theory she could pick it out of Mike's mind but I don't think she'd go there again unless she absolutely had to do so. Her energetic pace combined with her sassy expression combined with her low cut shirt was too much for Mike to keep silent. “I mean, come on!”

Apart from turning her smug smile to Mike for a moment, she ignored him, keeping her focus on me. She stared at me long enough to make the situation a bit uncomfortable. Before I could prompt her, she stated “I know about Kitty Frou-Frou.” Her grin that much more smug, she bounded back to the chortling Scott.

“No no no!: I protested. “Not cool!” Mike died laughing. “Jerk.”

I suppose now you want to know the story too. Jerks.

Glad to Be Here

“Oh good, you made it.” Idly rubbing at my pinch, I turned to see it was Scott's wife Natalie talking to me. I greeted her warmly and there was the exchange of a hug. “How are you?”

“I'm well. Yourself?”

“Tired. There's always so much to do to get ready for these parties.”

“In that case, let me now express my gratitude for all your efforts before I forget.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” She paused, watching her husband animatedly telling Sarah Jean a story. Sarah Jean was laughing, not one of those polite laughs but an 'oh my goodness, really?' sort of laugh. Whatever the story, I'm sure it's about me. “I'm glad he's enjoying himself. He's working very hard at work right now. The company says it's having trouble and...” She paused, then dispelled this downward trend in the conversation with a smile. “He deserves a good day. I'm glad you could make it.”

I smiled back. “So am I.”

Arrival

By the time we reached Scott's house, she had mostly relaxed. At the very least she was smiling at me again and gave my arm a bit of a squeeze as we approached the house. I know she knows I meant well.

We had to park a couple houses down the street  due to the cars already present. As we walked up, the wind shifted, delivering the wonderful smell of burning charcoal and grilling meats. It was wonderful enough to draw a contented sigh from me. At the very least, we should eat well.

There was still a hint of nerves within me. What would my friends think of Sarah Jean? What would she think of them? More importantly, what would they tell her about me?

We weaved through the vehicles in the driveway, heading for the backyard as I'd been directed during Scott's call. The garage door was open, displaying tables of food as well as coolers that were overflowing with ice and beverages. Alongside the garage was a large grill and Scott working at it.

Upon seeing us, he grew very animated. Loudly calling out my name, he ran to meet us. I was wrapped up in a bear hug that took me off my feet. For a moment I was unable to breathe. Thankfully he didn't keep me long and I was soon back on the ground. While gasping for oxygen, I managed to introduce Sarah Jean. “Man o man,” Scott expressed. “Patrick may not date much but he sure does pick pretty gals when he does.”

I winced. It was starting already. Scott's seen me with, what, all of two young ladies and he says that. Considering how I'd managed to irritate Sarah Jean, I expected trouble. She smiled brightly up at him. “That you Scott. That's nice of you to say.”

He waved this off and made a dismissal noise. “Get some food and something to drink and I'll tell you about this guy.”

I sighed audibly, mostly for effect. “And I regret showing up already.”

Scott chuckled. Sarah Jean gave me that trouble grin and mentally noted “He's in a good mood, happy to see us, and has just enough beer in him to elevate his mood. He'll tell me whatever I want to know.”

“And if they're serving wine, you'll tell him whatever he wants to know.” I meant it to be funny, but I think it came across as more bitter than I expected. Still smiling, she stepped over to me, and kissed me on the cheek as she punched me on the arm. After I yelped, she mumbled “Behave” and, still grinning, joined Scott at the grill.

Ouch. Such a violent young lady.

Me and My Big Mouth

The weekend did not start well. The original plan was for Sarah Jean to arrive Saturday afternoon, we'd spend some time together doing whatever, go to Scott's party on Sunday, and she'd leave early Monday that she could do some stuff at home with her friends. I managed to talk my way out of attending her Monday event by pointing out that I was scheduled to work on Tuesday and offering to attend the next holiday type even by her. Sarah Jean has access to trans-continental craft as well as a generally more open schedule so it's easier for her to visit me than me her. While she could have taken me home with her Monday and gotten me back that night, she'd end up missing out on too much by ferrying me around.

We had a good plan, until she got delayed by work and didn't make it to Milwaukee until Sunday morning. She was able to inform me of the delay so I wasn't worried about her in that regard. If she hadn't been able to make it at all, it's not as if I still couldn't go to the party. The problem was only that  I had been looking forward to seeing her on Saturday so the delay made me miss her that much more.

You would think that, since I missed her so, I'd just be happy to see her when she arrived Sunday morning and all would be well. Looking back I'd think that as well. I certainly should have been. I must have been agitated over missing her or nervous about mixing her with my old friends or something because she was barely in the house for five minutes before I went and said something stupid. Yes, I know, I lasted as long as five minutes before doing something dumb, a new record. Ha ha.

“You're not going to wear that, are you?”

Why did I suddenly care? Friend Patrick wouldn't have said anything. Friend Patrick would have just smiled, walked around grinning like an idiot, gone to the party, snickered with his buddies, and gone home again. So why did Boyfriend Patrick have to say something? I'm not sure.

Maybe it was concern about how her style would reflect on us. Maybe it was some sudden concern about what people would think of me, something I thought I'd successfully dismissed. Maybe I was concerned about how it would make her look and I meant to help. Maybe I just figured she'd hear me think it and I should just get it out of the way now. All I know is that the words slipped out and I immediately regretted saying them.

Sarah Jean gave me a Look. “Why?” It was not a question asked with sweetness and wonder; it was a question asked with menace and threat.

I had started this fight, accidentally perhaps but I had started it. I had no good answer to her demand for information. It wasn't as if my good-natured sweetheart had arrived dressed in garb more suitable for an exotic dancer or a bondage queen. Nor was she over or under dressed for the gathering or the weather, so I couldn't really blame my comment on that, although in retrospect I really should have done. “It's just a little on the tight side,” I tried to note in a light, casual, friendly way.

Sarah Jean's expression grew hotter and colder at the same time, a truly impressive sight if not focused upon you. “Are you trying to say I'm putting on weight?”

This threw me for a loop. If I wasn't fumbling and backpedaling before, I certainly was now. That was not what I was trying to say at all. I tried to express myself but managed only fragments of speech.”No. What? Huh?”

She folded her arms. “What are you trying to say Patrick? Spit it out, no thinking it.”

“I know my friends and I know how we react to women and I'm just concerned that they'll enjoy your company in the wrong way.”

She observed me for a moment. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Just trying to look out for me?”

“Yes.”

“You should have said that.”

“Yes.”

Slowly her arms unfolded and the intensity faded. “Okay. I can believe that.”

“I mean, I want to show you off to my friends but I don't want to 'show you off' to my friends,” I tried to explain.

“I got it. You can stop now.”

“Good, good.” We headed for the door. I caught a different angle of her as I opened the door. “You know, that shirt's a little low cut.”

That's when she hit me. I have have deserved that. Maybe not.

It's Agreed

As it turned out we had nothing planned for the Sunday afternoon of Scott's party. That did not necessarily mean that Sarah Jean was keen to go. “It's nothing against your friend,” she reassured. “I'm sure he's nice. I just won't be comfortable. I won't know anybody.”

“You'll know me,” I noted helpfully.

“You know what I mean,” she exasperatedly responded.

I was politely confused. “You're such a friendly, outgoing person that I didn't think it would be an issue.”

“That doesn't mean I can't be shy sometimes,” she protested.

“Are you scared to meet my old friends?” I teased.

“Were you scared to meet mine?” she countered.

I considered that concept. “Not really but I probably should have been.”

“See?”

I pushed onward. “It'll be fun. Besides we won't have to stay long if you're uncomfortable.”

“You just want to show me off to your friends,” she declared.

I had a clever response to that comment. “Well duh.”