That when people get a little drunk, respect for personal space is of little concern?
The classic highball becomes a touchy-feely metre. The first drink is just to get them chatty. The second is to begin ridding themselves of inhibitions and “filters”. The third is the key drink to watch. The first sip of that third highball is the one that you really start measuring from. That first sip of their third you can see their eyes scanning the room over the rim of the glass. This is important because this is the point where meeting that gaze will lock you into the “personal bubble tango”.
As the gaze is met it’s followed with a big grin and here they come. There’s the introduction first, at a slightly slurred, and uncomfortable distance. They’ll clumsily shift their drink from one hand to the other and thrust out the now free hand in greetings. If you shake that hand they will usually take two steps in. If you don’t shake that hand they will instead reach out and touch your shoulder with a little pat-pat and take two steps in just the same. From that point on you spend the next half-hour taking steps backward, sideways and back again to keep some comfortable distance…
I witnessed and experienced this third drink phenomena for the first part of the night. Amusing.
As the night wore on it became the “tenth highball and third vodka shooter tango”. A little less amusing with some…but those are the grumpy drunks. Most just get silly and sleepy-eyed as they try to remain casual as they fight gravity. Red cheeks and noses and a good group of people all in all.
I did have a couple of beers and a rum and coke. Sipped throughout the night and barely got a buzz. The Hubby…well he had a couple more. Not drunk at all but a little more comfortable in the environment.
I spent most of the night without my Husband. I knew this was how it would be and really I didn’t have to go. He was in the wedding party so he sat at the head table, and had duties to perform that meant we didn’t spend a lot of time together. We’d exchange semi-blind glances from across the room…we have terrible eyesight at distances so we only had patterns and shapes to guide our distance flirtations.
I turned some head thank you very much. Really its amusing because I honestly could barely keep my eyes of my man when he was there. He looks damn fine in a suit. He didn’t think so but I did.
About this suit…good lord. What cruelty they are!
Stiff and claustrophobic. It’s not that they weren’t “okay” suits but really a hundred other guys had been forced to wear the same ones as they were rentals so they weren’t exactly “fine tailored”. Especially the pants…they consumed my Husbands lower half and did terrible things to the aesthetics of his buttocks. From the front he was stylin’ though. But it was a sad day for his rear end, and my enjoyment of it.
This evil suit was nearly the end for him. If he could have bowed out of the whole thing based solely on that suit and how stupid he felt wearing it, he would have.
The last hour we were there, was far more comfortable. The mood changed as most of the “proper folk” and seniors headed home, leaving the “normal folk” to enjoy. It was an interesting mix of subversive cultures and more formal, staunch cultures. And Irishman and a Scottish gal hitching up…it happens. Naturally the Scottish pride was the mainstay of the wedding theme, where the Irish took a more “Canadian” approach to it and were quietly Irish but boisterously drunk. I can say that because I am both Irish and Scottish…with a little British and some kind of Nordic something-or-other, just to give me some height and a terrible fear of the sun and heat.
To be honest it was wasn’t a bad evening considering it was a wedding. Neither my husband or I really believe in that particular institution. We’ve made vows to each other under whatever all-mighty is out there that is bigger than us, and we abide by it out of love and respect for one another. A piece of paper, golden rings and a new tax bracket aren’t going to solidify our commitment to each other, or strengthen our bond in any way.
Anyway…it was a good night I think over-all. Plus I got to sit across from what had to be the cutest baby in the world. No shit. She was the perfect, chubby, well-mannered and easy-going baby I have met. Over the course of six hours she cried once. Wasn’t fussy, demanding or stinky. She happily absorbed every ounce of attention and it was actually quite amazing how grown men turn into puddles of mooshy goo when they are exposed to a baby in a situation where there may be single attractive females watching…
The trip to Toronto up next…