This weekend I got to perform, not comedy, but in the dance that is meeting your significant other’s pals. Best case, all goes well, but usually one of them hates your guts and plants seeds of discontent…or you go nuts trying to put on a good face for a bunch of psychos. Trust me, there are people I hang out with that should be in jail – or used to be, so I owe the lady a few favors.
I rolled in and the ladies were very friendly, probably due to the copious amounts of alcohol being drank. Good, we have something in common! After a few pleasantries, all was well and the night was off and running – me and the girls! We went to the jazz and rib fest, where apparently every poor person in Columbus goes annually. I saw a 60 year old woman wearing Apple Bottom jeans and a bare midriff t-shirt, then a man rolling around on the ground with either another man or a very husky woman. Ah, festivals, I hate you so. We went to get some delicious ribs, but one of the ladies didn’t want to eat there, so we left. Well, that was worth the trip.
This is where men and women differ very much. Guys have none of this feeling called “empathy” so while we won’t remember birthdays, anniversaries, or other events, we also don’t put up with this “OK, one person doesn’t like this, let’s all suffer” bullshit. Had the scenario been flipped, much ridicule would’ve ensued until all in the group verbally pummelled the objector into rib-eating submission. I once got berated for 20 minutes not drinking the same beer as the group – and they were drinking light beer. I’m sure even goth guys heckle each other into the ground over sloppy eye makeup. Ironically, the place we wound up at had delicious food and I hate weird people in crowds, so it worked out. Tune in tomorrow for more of my “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” Saturday, if you haven’t killed yourself yet reading about my plunging masculinity.