My Skills Remain Sharp

I have never been accused of understanding women. I've had enough friends and a few good friends of the female variety that will readily tell you that I am a knucklehead. I deny none of their claims. I mean well but have a skill at messing things up.

I do try to be a gentleman. I hold doors. I am able to carry on conversations with the female of the species while looking them in the eyes. For that matter, I've been able to carry on conversations with females on topics they were interested in speaking about. I've held conversations with women where I've not spent the time picturing the females in the area wearing less clothing that they actually are, and with attractive females, not just the type of ladies that look like a maiden aunt.

However I am a man with what I believe are to be relatively normal levels of hormones. I react to things. I sit with other manly men and comment on those ladies that pass us by. I do appreciate the female form from an ascetic point of view. I am not made of stone.

I'm a guy but I try to behave a bit.

With the defense having had its chance to speak, here's what happened.

Sarah Jean, some of her friends, some of my friends, and, perhaps obviously, myself were hanging out at my house. It was going well. Surprisingly well. No loud arguments like some people have at their gatherings like this (who would do that? cough), no signs of trouble, no harsh words that I know about. Everyone seemed to be getting along and the groups were meshing well. Even Harry didn't give me any 'tough guy' lip when I reminded him he'd have to smoke outside. Music, beverages, and good company. A fine evening.

Clearly it was my job to mess this up.