I don't particularly like party games, and I like parties even less, but sometimes you have to turn up – do your penance.
My girlfriend asked me to attend. She doesn't know what I do for a living. Special agent? More like 'pencil pusher' these days.
I say ‘girlfriend’, and you probably think that I'm young and healthy.
One out of two.
My 50th birthday has been bearing down on me recently, and I cannot seem to dodge it.
So, young? No, but reasonably healthy.
It was realising that my youth had flown which prompted me to consult Dr Bob Roberts. I was sitting in his waiting room contemplating Dr Roberts parent’s lack of imagination when I heard my name being called.
There is something about having your full name being called that takes you straight back to your school days. I was waiting for the words “come to the principal's office,” when I snapped out of it, and I proceeded into the most exciting appointment of my life.
To cut a very long story short, Dr Roberts was famous for perfecting a health drink specifically aimed at lazy approaching-middle-aged-males like me.
I never bothered to read the fine print, and I've never read the Apple terms of agreement either, but on this occasion, it would've been a good idea if I had.
So, I'm at this mildly annoying party with some spectacularly attractive, boring people when the subject of party games comes up.
I suffered through several rounds of Charades, and at just about the moment I thought I would have to gnaw my arm off to escape I heard myself say, “How about we play, ‘Pass Through The Writer’?”
Not surprisingly, most people said they had never heard of that game.
“How do you play it?”
“I'm glad that you asked,” I said with just a hint of the smile.
I’d indeed ‘had a few’, but that was for anaesthetic purposes, now my intoxication was fuelling my bravado.
I chose the prettiest woman from those who were paying attention to my conversation.
I decided to face south for no particular reason except that I knew where south was due to an underutilised application on my iPhone.
The attractive woman was, even more beautiful, the closer she got.
She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, but that may have had more to do with having to step over several sets of feet to join me ‘centre stage’.
It helped that I was standing under a downlight which gave us a theatrical glow.
She smelled amazing, and I was tempted to ask the name of her fragrance, but I did not want to diminish the buildup to my performance.
I leaned down, because she was several inches shorter than I, and whispered in her ear, “Stand quietly behind me and when I say the word ‘forward’ walk towards me and for heaven's sake don’t stop until I tell you to or something genuinely terrible will happen.”
I heard her gasp, ever so slightly.
Now she was unsure; was I serious or not?
I’d never done this with a stranger before, and I had no way of knowing if she would move when I told her to, but the look in her green eyes said that there was a good chance that she would.
Despite the poorly amplified music, there was a kind of silence in the room.
I milked the anticipation of my rapidly growing audience until almost every eye was upon us.
“Close your eyes and move forward. Trust me, you will be fine.”
I was well lubricated, so I forgot about the after-effect.........