2003-02-23 - 3:50 p.m.

It is a very good thing that I am comfortable being single. If not, events like last night's would send me into a great depression instead of the hysterical laughter that I have been warding off all day today.

Let me explain with two backstories first.

Backstory no. 1: Years ago, in the late 90s, my dear friend Susan's husband, Mike, used a term to describe his impending need to empty his bowels. Most of us have heard euphemisms for this action before ("Have to see a man about a horse," etc) but Mike's phrase was new to me, and has left me snickering for years. He said, simply, "Excuse me, but I've got a brown trout sticking its head out."

The combination of the visual impact of this statement, its lilting rhyme and the fact that it was delivered with complete seriousness has marked the event as one of the more humorous of my lifetime. Whenever I share the story with people, I'm usually relegated to tears of laughter. Like now.

Backstory no. 2: My friend Beth, whom I teach with, was telling me about the party she was going to have this weekend. She mentioned there would be a man there that she thought I would be interested in, but refused to tell me anymore because she didn't want me to feel like it was a set-up.

Now for the real-time story:

I show up at Beth's party all cuted-up and looking very pink and orange. In contrast, Beth and most of her friends are brown and green tree-huggers, so I was very bright. I had more lipstick on than all the other girls combined. But that's OK, because I was being me. And I refuse to be anyone else. She had told me only one thing about this mystery guy, and that was "he's not like the rest of us...you'd like him." By this, I assumed she meant he drives a car and eats meat.

After beer was poured, Beth and I headed downstairs to play Ping Pong on their two new donated tables, and we quickly teamed up with Beth's husband Brett and a very attractive boy named Nick to play Beer Pong. In Beer Pong, each player puts his or her beer cup in their corner of the table. If your cup is hit by the ball, you and your partner have a take a drink. If the ball LANDS in your cup, you and your partner have to chug the whole thing. (Of course, we were drinking good beer so we changed the chug rule to "sip and enjoy half the cup.")

I discovered early on that a) Nick was lousier at defending his cup than Brett; b) Nick gave me cute glances each time I hit or almost hit his cup and c) Nick was obviously the man Beth had told me about (he was shaved and was wearing -- I think -- an Abercrombie shirt).

So the game is on, in more ways than one. Regular flirtations proceeded throughout the evening, and when Nick and I finally started talking one-on-one, I had had about 3 beers and was feeling happy. Not drunk, just happy. He was telling me about his newly acquired Master's of Science degree and I stupidly, stupidly, stupidly ask, "what was the topic of your thesis?"

He said, "The emergence patterns of the brown trout."

Bwa.

(beer goes through nose)

Bwa haa.

(oh my god I hope he doesn't think I'm laughing at his degree)

BWAA HAAA HAAAAAA

(the worst part about this is that it is NOT appropriate to tell him why I'm laughing)

BWAAA! SNORT!! GUFFAW!!!

(maybe if I say something it'll help)

"So, my dad gave me a bunch of frozen brown trout to fry up. They're in my freezer still."

(oh dear god, you just admitted you ate the topic of his thesis! what if he's working to save the brown trout! get me out of here!)

I don't remember much after the brown trout conversation, but needless to say, I don't think I left the best - or most intelligent - impression upon Brown Trout Boy.

And that, my friends, is another reason why I don't even try to date. I have the social skills of first grader.

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