Overjoyed to have a social event etched on the calendar, I was like a child counting down to Christmas, eagerly anticipating a big night out. It seemed like a fantastic idea, round up all the single people you know, instruct them to bring all the single friends that they know, and all meet at a trendy downtown bar on the same night! Email your names, the butterfly instructed, I will guarantee you’re on the guest list! Ooh, a guest list. Most of my social occasions do not involve a perky person parading a clipboard of society’s chosen ones. This was to be quite an event!
My anticipation was on overload at the prospect of all those single people mingling and tingling in the same place. Lead up hours were spent creating the perfect ‘downtown with a guest list’ outfit, with me desperately wanting to show that sipping elegant lime and lycee cocktails came naturally (unlucky for this little beaver, it doesn’t; I much prefer wolfing down pub grub, and when it comes to cocktails, the creamier and tackier the better).
Five single girls set off a few hours later, with all traces of ‘If you like pina coladas’ pushed to the back of my mind. After a swift drive downtown, some shifty parking and a sexy strut down the pavement, we arrived at single central! We maneuvered past the three clipboarded staff, into an uber-trendy bar. With eager faces we scanned the drinks and food options.
My eagerness wore off quickly. It was one of those moments when you realise you don’t actually belong amongst the lycee lime drinking, polenta crisp nibbling, designer thread wearing crowd. That you actually are a bit lower on the food chain, enjoying the potato wedges and strawberry daiquiris in your ‘this top was 10 bucks!’ outfit. But since I was already in guest list land I perched myself on a rotating pouffe and turned my attention to the hordes of singles.
And there they were! Loads of single people! Stylish, trendy, available and… female. All with expectant faces, surreptitiously staring at the door to appraise any male who entered. I felt a little hesitant to mingle with all these females, since I’d already come equipped with four of my own gal pals. Looking around I was confused. This was supposed to be a singles event, so where were all the males? Fashionably late? Turned away by the clipboarders? Possibly already whisked away from girls who were there early?
Or possibly, there are no males coming. It dawned on me that asking single girls to bring single friends doesn’t include bringing single men. Why? Because most of us single girls only know other single girls and if we knew single men we’d probably already be out dating them, or trying to date them, or have already dated them, thanks very much. So there was the sea of problems I was looking out on under the subdued mood lighting. More like a sea of single women. Or a subdued single women’s’ meeting. It was less like attending a singles meet and greet and more like attending a birthday party where you don’t really know the host.
So after one expensive exquisite cocktail, and a few glasses of water (and some disdainful looks from the waitress) my single friends and I made a hasty exit out to the hustle and bustle of an inner city street. Elegantly, we proceeded to move directly into the thrones of ragamuffins, and stand on the sidewalk guzzling cans of cola and munching on giant greasy pizza slices.
Full and content, I felt very much at home. Ooh who just saw those cute boys go into the pub?