The Beautiful Kind

The other night I went to this yuppie faculty party. It was a typical grown up affair - everyone was snazzily dressed and schmoozing, drinking wine, eating cheese and asking politely, as they blinked rapidly behind their designer frames, “So, what do you do?” I fucking HATE that question. The last time someone asked me that I replied flatly, “I sit on the couch,” which made her laugh nervously.

A far better question to ask is, “What do you do for fun?” That way you can skip the part about working in a boring office (the majority of people’s answers) and get straight to the belly dancing or rehabbing old houses, or, in my case, playing with sock monkeys and pez dispensers and writing about my sex life. And if a person should happen to have a cool job they’re passionate about like sculpting, teaching music, or curing breast cancer, that can still fall under the “for fun” category and all’s well.

Anyway, I didn’t fit in at this party and was all flushed from drinking red wine and wasn’t sure what to do with myself when all of a sudden some happy J. Crew model guy entered the room carrying a big tray of individual creme brulles, each glowing with a lit candle. The crowd oohed and ahhed, and he presented it with flourish to the birthday woman, who smiled hugely and blew at the army of brulles. Only a few went out.

Then. The guy turned to the next person (me) and offered the tray. I was confused - was it a yuppie custom to make everyone at the party take turns blowing out the candles? I blew at them, and he still held the tray in my face. I blew again, anxiously wishing he would go away, when he offered instructively, “Take one.”

OH. Fuck. I was supposed to TAKE one, not blow (spit) on them. Well how the hell was I supposed to know what was going on? I just read Amy Sedaris’ book on entertaining (I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence), and it gave no guidance whatsoever on what to do when someone confronts you with a tray of desserts on fire.

I acted on instinct - when someone shoves something in my face, I blow it. (You could see that one coming, couldn’t you?)

As soon as I realized what he intended, I was mortified. It was hands down the 2nd most embarrassing thing to happen to me this year. (The 3rd most embarrassing thing was when I drunkenly jammed with my ex-husband in his basement. He played the electric guitar obscenely loud and I shouted along - NOT my idea, was just trying to be a good sport. I burn with shame when I think back on it. The 1st most embarrassing thing involved a 500 lb. man, and that’s all I’m going to say about it. Mortifying Moments - now that would be a good list/blog idea. Why don’t one of you take it and run with it? It’s all yours!)