A few years or so ago I accompanied a couple to a house-party in Bunker Hill; which is a beautiful and upscale neighbourhood in Houston. The host was an older man in his 50s whose fashion sense had apparently developmentally-arrested somewhere in the 1970s. Along with a pair of leather jeans and an open white shirt, he had a huge mustache that dominated a third of his face and rats-tails strands of past-the-collar hair. What he lacked in physical attractiveness and good taste, however, he made up for in money and possessions . . . including a collection of beautiful dragons! We engaged briefly in social chat regarding our mutual love of the mythical creatures and then he toddled off to bark orders at some chick. The reason I had agreed to go to the party in the first place was because my friends, the couple who took me to the party that is, wanted to introduce me to a single male friend of theirs. They had sworn up and down that he was mature and not-a-jerk, and that he was the best-friend of the host. As it happens, I did meet the guy and he was nice but there was simply no chemistry present.

I found out from my friends a few months later that the party host’s “girlfriend” had, in fact, been secretly dating both the party host and his best-friend at the same time. (Again, the best-friend being the guy that my friends wanted me to meet.) As it turned out, the not-girlfriend ran off and married the not-so-best-friend. Weeks later I received an email from Mr. Party Host politely enquiring as to whether I would care to join him for dinner and a play. I almost turned him down, but it was a slow week. He showed up in style wearing a suit and tie and proferring a single long-stemmed red rose. We ended up dating for about eight months and while I knew all along that there was no future for us, I had a few good times with him along the way. And now for the coincidence part . . .

Several years ago I wrote an essay regarding a Fetish Ball that I had attended in Houston, Texas. In that report I mentioned that standing behind me as we entered the club was a chick with “perfect breasts” who was naked under a chain mail tank-top. After reading my essay, the guy I was then-dating sent me a photo of her!! Turns out, her date (and then-boyfriend), who was off parking his car, was none other than Mr. Party Host himself! Apparently, we missed meeting one another the first time around by mere moments. That, or I only briefly avoided a fate worse than boredom. Fascinating, eh? well, maybe not so much fascinating but more of a quirky coincidence.

[This is the sort-of thing I end up writing about when I have nothing else to write about. Or when things in my life are so scrambled that I have to divert my attention with such trivial flotsam.]

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 24th, 2006 at 11:39 am and is filed under Humour. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.