Dutch Courage

You know the feeling when you’re at a party and it’s early in the night so things haven’t quite got going yet? Well that’s our annual office Christmas party, but instead of it just being at the start it’s the whole damn thing. In one corner you have our creepy boss trying to flirt with the new intern he hired (who just so happens to be a pretty young twenty something), and then you get the middle aged women howling down the microphone singing along to Dancing Queen, their faux pearl necklaces swinging all over the place. I had the pleasure of sitting near the bar which meant I had easy access to the drinks that I didn’t have to pay a penny for, although it also meant I was in close proximity to Francis who would undoubtedly spend the whole evening swooning over me.

Francis was like any other flamboyant and eccentric man – wearing his bright orange boat shoes and small round frames which made him look very European. The small talk was bearable as I’ve taught myself to cope with hearing the stories of Francis’ travels and the new French movie he went to see a late showing of – despite the fact that he can’t speak any French.  When it got to the more serious conversation that’s when I needed to escape. Surprisingly enough I didn’t care about how his relationship just ended and he’s now single and loving life. If he really was loving the single life, why is he over here trying to flirt with me? He kept ordering me more and more drinks – which maybe I would be more flattered by if they weren’t all free and if I was oblivious to the fact he was only trying to get me drunk.
Eventually Francis got the courage, or should I call it Dutch courage, to ask me out for dinner but I had to use the standard excuse
“sorry Francis! I’m out with my wife that night.”
Pretending not to be gay was the only way to escape the poor man.


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