A question was posed to me at a social gathering--details about what kind of party it was or how I’ve come to hate Larry are not important; to which I was asked why I still carried a bottle opener attached to my key chain.

I replied seriously, “I have it just in case of an emergency.”

Much like you need jumper cables in your car, I thought.

Laughter poured out each of their mouths as though Barney had burst into flames right in front of them. An additional number of people gathered around to see what the commotion was about. Perhaps they wanted to laugh at me as well. I felt as though I was Bambi trapped in front of his attackers. Small, scared and limp. Where as in this scenario, my attackers were married groups, newly divorcees, the recently brokenhearted and the in-betweens who had yet to ask their partners the ultimate question: Are we dating/are you coming over tonight/want to play Jenga?

“What kind of emergency would you possibly need a bottle opener for?” Asked a married fellow with wild curiosity.

As I started to respond, I think back to when I had considered this guy to be my Kip Wilson. Has his newborn relationship prohibited him from all things fun and most importantly why the hell is he acting like he doesn’t know why I would need a bottle opener for emergency purposes? Did we not read the same book about the pick-up artist and did we not laugh on several occasions about our failed social experiments after reading said book? I eyed him suspiciously trying to figure out if he was joking but he was serious.

“I might be in a situation where it’s needed,“ I responded coolly.

“Name one,” asked another.

“Two weeks ago, there was a party and no bartender in sight. It proved most useful then.”

I noticed the majority of the group was in a wonder about the whole thing and had now realized that I’ve become that friend. You must know what I’m referring to at this point. I became the friend who is perpetually single or in feverish relationships that lasts every new moon cycle. They all spoke of babies, rental properties and engagements. Since I shared none of those interests, to a certain extent, I talked about what I appreciated the most. Typically, they are left with nothing back to offer other than, “Didn’t they play on David Letterman?” or “Why don’t you just move (insert country name here) and help them yourself?”

A brave blonde, whom I flirted with last year when she was straight, tells the group that there’s nothing wrong with having that on a key chain. She smiled back at me while she caressed her new paramour.

I grimaced.

I then asked a new question to the group just before I was patted on the back like a puppy by Larry: “How old is too old to carry a bottler opener on one’s key chain anyway?”

Prior to their response, I thought possibly they might have some carnal knowledge that I don’t share. They might even stop talking about babies long enough for me to understand their weird language. More importantly why is this wine taking so long to take affect.

“After your junior year in college,” they all declare.

I nodded, sipped my wine and waited for a proper time to make my exit.

Labels: foibles