Monday, November 01, 2004
My Part in the Winter of Your Discontent
Every single, unattached person is bred over time to hate holidays. They lose all meaning and instead become a harrowing reminder of your single status, your isolation, your lack of a significant other. It takes on added significance during the fall and winter holidays. You need an S.O at Thanksgiving so you don't end up being the fifth wheel at dinner, or worse, exiled to the children's table for the meal. Christmas can be a heart-breaker for lots of us if you've nobody to exchange gifts and snuggle under the blanket with while drinking warm spiced rum. And February 14th is like a stake through the heart if you are flying solo. What worse way to be reminded of your solitary nature than through the constant barrage of roses, chocolates, Hallmark sentiments, and couples publicly showing affection. Now I know why the primary color of the holiday is blood red: You'll want to go home and slit your wrists after living through this.
The only reason I mention this is because I find myself being recruited as an understudy of sorts every time fall comes around. A fill in, you know, until the yet-to-be-found Prince Charming shows up and takes over.
"What are you doing for Halloween?" asks Melinda, the short, thin, ex-cheerleader from USC who works in my office and passes her day flirting shamelessly with me and a few other men in the office. "Any hot parties you've penciled in, hmm?"
This is usually how it starts. The Halloween date gets the ball rolling and after a few dates and some rolls in the hay, it's off to Thanksgiving dinner at her parents' house with me cast in the role of pseudo-boyfriend-arm-ornament. I can even tell the conversation parent and daughter will have - "So, is this THE ONE?" her mother will ask as an aside stolen during a private moment in the kitchen. "He seems different from the other ones." "Oh, he is, he is," dutiful daughter will respond, not so much leading her mother on, but somewhat in a pickle because she likes me a bit and the sex is good, though she has no delusions why she hooked up with me. I'm a fill-in to get her through that dreadful single-person's winter of discontent that lasts from mid-October until the end of February.
"A person like you should have no problem getting yourself invited to a number of parties, Mel. Why rely on dreary old me?"
"Dreary old you? Ha ha, your reputation proceeds you. You go where the fun is. And the trouble, I might add." Melinda plays with her hair, tugging a bit on the curled brunette ends of her ponytail. I love her hair and she knows it. "So fess up - where are you going?"
"Cross is throwing a party," I say dryly, looking away from her acting like I don't give a shit about her, her hair or her come-ons. "I have another friend throwing a party in some industrial warehouse in the valley, but I don't know if I'll go. I mean, it's the valley, you know? What have you got?"
Mel pauses, sits atop my desk, crosses her legs so she knows I've got a good view of her recently-waxed legs, and sighs. "Nothing. I've got nothing. I mean, my friends are going to some sorority and alumni-thrown costume party back near campus, but that doesn't sound fun. Besides, there's gonna be like 20 women all dressed as the sexy catwoman or naughty nurse."
I lean in, close to her. "You say it like it's such a bad thing. You don't like the competition?"
"I don't like the lack of originality. You guys, you're all the same. You just like the slut factor."
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't," I say. I stand back up and start moving away from her. "But it's not like anybody's making you dress that way. Women use Halloween as an excuse to play the slut card, and I'm reaping all the benefits."
She sticks her tongue out at me like she's a third-grader. "So you have no problem with that?" she asks.
"Do I sound like I do? If you've got it, flaunt it. The thing, or people I have a problem with are the ones who don't have the body to support the slutty outfit. Rethink your costume choice. Go as something else instead- maybe as a slutty circus tent or slutty car cover."
Melinda laughs, but it's not your everday, garden-variety laugh; it's the flirty laugh, the one that sounds like she's you've just told the funniest joke she's ever heard. She goes back to playing with her hair. "Do you need a date for your little shindig?" she asks.
"I dunno, I could go stag. It sounds like you do, however." I look her over. Aside from the fact that I work with the woman and that violates one of my biggest rules of dating, Melinda's a really good-looking woman. Sure, she's a little shorter than I like 'em, but she makes up for it in different ways. Big boobs. Small waist. Great hair. Nice smile. I bet she takes control in the sack. A guy could do worse.
"Well, I'm looking for something to do, you're looking for something to do," she begins. She re-crosses her legs. Dammit. "It seems like a good match, you and me." She smiles and then utters the words that she will later regret. "We'll go as friends who just work together."
"Sure we will," I say, and open the door. "I'll get back to you." Truth is I've already decided she's in. I'm curious what level of slut she'll go as. And I'm not one to turn my back on the chance to take a crack at a woman I'm attracted to. But as I walk down the hall thinking about what costume to wear - will I be the Mad Hatter, or 70s porn star? - I'm wondering where Melinda and I will be at the end of Single Person's Winter.
The only reason I mention this is because I find myself being recruited as an understudy of sorts every time fall comes around. A fill in, you know, until the yet-to-be-found Prince Charming shows up and takes over.
"What are you doing for Halloween?" asks Melinda, the short, thin, ex-cheerleader from USC who works in my office and passes her day flirting shamelessly with me and a few other men in the office. "Any hot parties you've penciled in, hmm?"
This is usually how it starts. The Halloween date gets the ball rolling and after a few dates and some rolls in the hay, it's off to Thanksgiving dinner at her parents' house with me cast in the role of pseudo-boyfriend-arm-ornament. I can even tell the conversation parent and daughter will have - "So, is this THE ONE?" her mother will ask as an aside stolen during a private moment in the kitchen. "He seems different from the other ones." "Oh, he is, he is," dutiful daughter will respond, not so much leading her mother on, but somewhat in a pickle because she likes me a bit and the sex is good, though she has no delusions why she hooked up with me. I'm a fill-in to get her through that dreadful single-person's winter of discontent that lasts from mid-October until the end of February.
"A person like you should have no problem getting yourself invited to a number of parties, Mel. Why rely on dreary old me?"
"Dreary old you? Ha ha, your reputation proceeds you. You go where the fun is. And the trouble, I might add." Melinda plays with her hair, tugging a bit on the curled brunette ends of her ponytail. I love her hair and she knows it. "So fess up - where are you going?"
"Cross is throwing a party," I say dryly, looking away from her acting like I don't give a shit about her, her hair or her come-ons. "I have another friend throwing a party in some industrial warehouse in the valley, but I don't know if I'll go. I mean, it's the valley, you know? What have you got?"
Mel pauses, sits atop my desk, crosses her legs so she knows I've got a good view of her recently-waxed legs, and sighs. "Nothing. I've got nothing. I mean, my friends are going to some sorority and alumni-thrown costume party back near campus, but that doesn't sound fun. Besides, there's gonna be like 20 women all dressed as the sexy catwoman or naughty nurse."
I lean in, close to her. "You say it like it's such a bad thing. You don't like the competition?"
"I don't like the lack of originality. You guys, you're all the same. You just like the slut factor."
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't," I say. I stand back up and start moving away from her. "But it's not like anybody's making you dress that way. Women use Halloween as an excuse to play the slut card, and I'm reaping all the benefits."
She sticks her tongue out at me like she's a third-grader. "So you have no problem with that?" she asks.
"Do I sound like I do? If you've got it, flaunt it. The thing, or people I have a problem with are the ones who don't have the body to support the slutty outfit. Rethink your costume choice. Go as something else instead- maybe as a slutty circus tent or slutty car cover."
Melinda laughs, but it's not your everday, garden-variety laugh; it's the flirty laugh, the one that sounds like she's you've just told the funniest joke she's ever heard. She goes back to playing with her hair. "Do you need a date for your little shindig?" she asks.
"I dunno, I could go stag. It sounds like you do, however." I look her over. Aside from the fact that I work with the woman and that violates one of my biggest rules of dating, Melinda's a really good-looking woman. Sure, she's a little shorter than I like 'em, but she makes up for it in different ways. Big boobs. Small waist. Great hair. Nice smile. I bet she takes control in the sack. A guy could do worse.
"Well, I'm looking for something to do, you're looking for something to do," she begins. She re-crosses her legs. Dammit. "It seems like a good match, you and me." She smiles and then utters the words that she will later regret. "We'll go as friends who just work together."
"Sure we will," I say, and open the door. "I'll get back to you." Truth is I've already decided she's in. I'm curious what level of slut she'll go as. And I'm not one to turn my back on the chance to take a crack at a woman I'm attracted to. But as I walk down the hall thinking about what costume to wear - will I be the Mad Hatter, or 70s porn star? - I'm wondering where Melinda and I will be at the end of Single Person's Winter.
4 Comments:
I've always wanted to go as a Playboy bunny myself. Except you need big boobs and a small ass and I have the opposite.
Hmm...I've been a Playboy bunny for Halloween & drove the fellows nuts! *wink wink*
I'm not blond, I have little boobs, & I'm petite...that's living proof that you don't have to fit certain sterotypes to look good in that sort of costume. All you need is some confidence & an average, reasonably fit body to pull it off...
What a coincidence, my name is Melinda too, like that girl who works with you at your office! We sound almost alike, from your physical description of her & her personality. Only difference is, I was never a cheerleader & I didn't attend USC.
Dude, this is so true! I have a bunch of friends (all women) who have done this. I think they do it just to get Christmas gifts.
i kinda dig the sexy car cover costume.
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