January 8 2009
My wife loves parties, but I dread them. I'm terrible at small talk; I'm shy with strangers and alcohol goes straight to my head. Somehow, I let Margaret talk me into going to a party hosted by a woman from her Pilates class. I found myself in a room filled with people whom I didn't know and then my wife went to the powder room, leaving me to my own devices.
My hostess came over to introduce me to her husband Steve.
"George is a writer," she said before leaving to greet some of her other guests.
Steve looked at me suspiciously.
"What do you write?" he asked.
"Detective stories."
"Oh. You mean with beautiful blondes who have great big..."
"My books are more about mystery," I said.
"Sure, but you gotta have blondes with great big..."
"Excuse me," I said. "I need a drink."
I went to the bar and quickly downed a glass of wine. Now, I was feeling more relaxed. A man with a moustache and wearing a leather jacket walked up to me.
"I hear you are writer," he said in a Slavic accent. "Intellectuals like you are oppressors of working class."
"You've got me wrong. I write about a detective."
"Is he oppressed?"
"Well, he gets beaten up and shot at a lot."
"Capitalist lackey," the man said.
"Excuse me, but I need another drink."
I had another glass of wine and now the room was a little blurred around the edges. A heavy woman with red hair grabbed my arm.
"They tell me you write," she said. "Are you doing a diet book? I have a great idea for a liquid spinach diet. We could be on Oprah and make a fortune."
"Pardon me, Madam," I said solemnly. "I seem to be under the affluence of incohol."
The third glass of wine was definitely a mistake. I was leaning against the bar to hold myself up when my hostess came back.
"Tell me, George," she said. "What will your next book be about?"
"Thash easy," I said. "Ish gonna be about a beautiful blonde with great big you knows who oppreshes the working clashes with her whip while drinking her diet."
"Good Heavens! Why would you want to write trash like that?"
"Ish what people want."
I'm told it was a great party, but I don't remember anything after that. The next day, I tried to explain to my wife, but I kept being distracted by the freight trains running through my head. When I go to parties now, I tell everyone that I'm a plumber. You'd be amazed at how much better I get treated.
George
P.S. Please visit my website at www.checkmatefiction.com for free short stories.
|
|
| Views: 96
Email This to a Friend 