Drone In Foam
It was Friday night and my college was hosting a Foam Dance Party. My friend Kay and I decided to go and of course, first we got tipsy.
The concept of it was that the college rented an inflatable dance floor with five-foot walls and a foam machine. People were dancing in the suds that came up to your waist and Kay was whipping out her awesome dance moves. A little while in, it turned out she had underestimated her alcohol intake and I had to keep saving her from guys who took that as an incentive to molest her – I mean, dance with her.
At one point, a guy came up to me and asked me to dance and I agreed. It was a party, after all, and in between rescuing Kay, I’d been dancing with other dudes, so I agreed. Unfortunately, this guy was not drunk or tipsy. That’s normally not a problem, except he was also extremely awkward. While dancing, he decided to strike up a conversation – about genetically modified organisms. Yeah, my clothes were soaked with foam, Beyonce was belting out her sweet serenade and I was listening to this guy go on about GMOs.
That would have been fine, because Kay needed me again and I escaped, except he later friended me on Facebook. He tried chatting with me via the internet, but I had to stop responding after the second or third conversation. He did that thing where you ask someone out without actually doing it – you know, let’s “hang out” instead of “go out.” The second time, he wanted to take me to a bar. His insistence went over the line when he stopped sounding like, “It’ll be chill and I’ll even be DD,” and started sounding more like “You should get totally wasted while I stay completely sober and drive you around.” I played sick.
For a guy who wouldn’t drink, he sure didn’t mind when the ladies did!