The Sock Hop

Last night I almost went out to a fetish party. Almost ... I mean, when it comes to going to fetish parties, does almost count for anything? Does it count that I'm thinking more about it? Does it count that I'm writing here about almost getting off the couch to actually show up? It's not that I'm worried about being seen. I figure that if I run into someone I know it would be a "So ... you too?" sort of thing. It has something to do with it being pretty late on a Sunday night when I have to work the next day. I mean, isn't Monday rough enough?

But mostly it's the feeling I had at the dance when I was fourteen years old. Nervous the girls won't like me. Worried I'll stand in the corner all night and nobody will talk to me. Concerned about what I should wear, will I be cool, will I be a complete dork? In response to a post I did on the Max board about going to parties someone said I should stop being the "color commentator of my life" and just go to the party. Come on. I like my gig as the talking head of my life. But, I suppose I could continue to be my very own kinky Cosell and go the party as well.

Ahhhh ... there's always a next time ... when there's no one else in sight, on a crowded lonely night ...