"HEY THERE, HANDSOME"
It was June 16, 2002, 4:02 a.m. I was on Comm Ave., walking back home from a very good party. Smiling to myself, I reflected on the impossible chance that David & Tricia had coincidentally been at the same party as JennnyJen, Greg, Eric & Melissa (and a good number of folks from Medway or Franklin) without my purposely setting things up like that. Even more proof, I thought, that God is a Writer that enjoys using and reusing the same cast of characters. There were many interesting things that were said/done at that party. However, to protect the innocent (or rather, the not-so-innocent), I will not speak of those things here. Even though I like to weblog, I still possess some degree of tact.
An SUV pulled up alongside me. I looked inside, anticipating getting jumped by a bunch of punks looking for trouble. Silently thankful for countless hours spent in the gym increasing my strength and (more recently) the speed and ferocity of my punches, my "MUST...KILL...ADVERSARIES" instincts were quickly mollified by the realization that the vehicle was filled with girls. Drunk girls. Drunk, probably-18-if-not-even-younger girls, who were wearing those spaghetti strap, backless tops that I absolutely detest. Silly lushes.
At least I wasn't in any physical danger.
"Hey there, handsome!" said the girl in the green top who was riding shotgun. She was plain. Plain, I tell you. As were the other girls in the SUV. They all had that same look to them. Basically, your typical Medfieldian girl as soon as she gets into the city. Within 1.21 nanoseconds, I knew their stories of their lives:
Raised in the Burbs, these girls had never gotten too wild, because being wild would have decreased their chances of getting in to Harvard or M.I.T., and also because Daddy wouldn't approve, and they didn't want to upset Daddy because he always bought them nice things from Abercrombie & Fitch. But now, they had their first apartment in the Big City, and Daddy wasn't watching over them anymore, and what Daddy didn't know wouldn't hurt him, so he would keep footing the bill for their rent. Besides, MTV told them that they had to rebel and go wild, because that's what you do, you see, when you first move out of home. So, cruising around in the SUV that Daddy bought them and talking to strange men at 4 in the morning that they had never met would be a perfectly good idea. Not that they would ever go home with such a guy. Oh, God no! That's just gross! No, all they want to do is get guys lusting after them, to reinforce their sense of self by manifesting their feminine power in a manner that would make Camille Paglia proud. They would just invite a guy to do something, and once he seemed willing to come along, they'd speed away laughing, like you do when you're an immature lush pretending to be a woman.
I really have no interest in playing games of sexual personae these days.
"Hey," I said in reply.
"Where are you going tonight?" said Green Top Girl, in her best "aren't I alluring" voice. No honey. You're not.
"To a 24-hour CVS. My rash is getting nasty, and I really need some ointment soon. Can you give me a ride?"
They drove off. They knew I was fucking with them just as they were fucking with me. Either that, or they actually believed me and this very instant are still talking about that gross guy with the rash.
I got home not long after that. I quickly washed up, while trying not to wake up Jenn or Matt, got into bed, and started to drift off into slumberland. Before going to sleep, one last thought crossed my mind:
"Did I just pass on the average middle-aged man's fantasy?"