By Amethyst Strickland
Published on January 30, 3008
I think we’ve all been to one; one of those parties where everyone is paired-up. This Noah’s Ark-like phenomenon is perfectly comfortable, unless of course you’re dateless. To be a lone wolf in the midst of many paired-up party animals can be unpleasant at least and painful at worst. I remember my last experience at such an event with extreme clarity.
It was supposed to be a prom/birthday party for a girl I knew only vaguely. The invitation was rather spur-of-the-moment. Not being one for advertising myself, I decided to just go with my younger brother.
The week proceeded rapidly and before I knew it, the night of the party had come.
As we walked in, I sensed something different in the heavy, warm air. The great door was shut behind us and a sense of anxiety filled my being. As my brother broke away to greet his many friends (he seemed to fit in more comfortably with the herd than me), my eyes darted around the room.
Suddenly, it hit me. This is one of those parties. Everyone there had a date. Even my brother had found a friend to converse with for the evening.
If standing around by myself wasn’t growing awkward enough, I glanced to my right and found a giant heart-shaped photo set. As the current couple gleefully posed, the gargantuan archway seemed to glare down at me with a demeaning grimace.
I sighed and settled down in the nearest chair I could find.
After an hour or so of staring at my disappointingly cold cheese sticks and a rather pathetic attempt at the Electric Slide, one of the chaperones came over to start a conversation. Since all the girls were too busy with their dates to talk and all the guys were “taken,” I was exuberant for some form of communication to distract me from my obvious lack of an escort.
My relief however, was short-lived as one of the first things to come out of the gregarious senior’s mouth was: “And where’s your date honey?”
I smiled awkwardly, “Actually, I don’t have one.”
Her entire countenance changed and silent confusion filled her face. I must admit I kind of enjoyed her apparent disbelief and simply smiled as her mind turned. Finally she added, in a sympathetic and almost questioning tone, “Well.you’re very pretty dear.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. She slowly wandered away, looking rather disturbed at such an oddity.
“Apparently,” I thought, “I’ve been ignorant of this unwritten rule that each pretty girl must have a date.”
I decided to attempt conversation with one of my brother’s friends, Casey. We chatted for a few moments and there was a glint of hope for a short while. However, once her boyfriend started hitting on me (yes, there were dogs in Noah’s Ark), conversation was promptly terminated and Casey’s communication was reduced to a catty scowl.
I quickly escaped back to my isolated abode: a rigid chair by the dance floor.
The host’s father approached me with genuine concern and inquired: “Are ya havin’ fun?”
“Yes, thank you,” I managed with a forced smile.
As it was starting to get late, the DJ announced that they were about to play the last song and it was to be a “couple’s dance.”
“Why,” I pondered as I scanned the packed dance floor, “could they possibly need a ‘couple’s dance’? With the exception of me, everyone here is part of a couple!”
Nevertheless, the evening concluded with dozens of elated girls draped over their partners, all sleepily swaying-and myself, the lone attendee watching it all from my wooden chair on the sidelines.
The last few lines of James Blount’s “Beautiful” rang through the atmosphere and the great doors began to open once more. As I plastered my smile back on, a flood threatened to drown my eyes. I vowed to never again go to a party that so resembled Noah’s Ark. And they came two by two.
