I've been outclassed before I even got out of the gate.
Bobby wants a fish bowl party. I'm going to have to find a fish bowl.
We've explained this to various naysayers quite a few times now: In the mythic swinging '70s this was a party for couples; the dudes put their keys in a fish bowl and the ladies a picked a set of keys and went home with their owner. The idea was you got a night "off" from your better half.
We're changing the rules a little because that's kind of lame.
First: no distinctions will be made as to gender or sexual preference. You could wind up going home with a member of the same sex. They may share your interest in boys or girls or Thai food. They may not. You'll get to know them or you're a spoilsport.
Second: there are no expectations. If you draw Jamaal's keys you might be playing Guitar Hero at his house until the wee hours. Sure, you can make out if you want but that's up to you and, in all honesty, I don't want to hear about it.
The only nervous Nellie to prick my conscience so far suggested that some dudes might get a little more aggressive and set us all back 37 years. A point.
Bobby isn't worried and says this will be an exclusive, invite-only gathering (his place sometime in August). I say there should also be a set of screening questions for participants to determine if they know how to act right.
One agreed on rule: singles only. We're not fucking up anyone's relationship here.
Bobby and I are both exempt from participating because we are throwing the party. I say this also means I get to wear a mask and, possibly, a boa.
Throwing a themed party is like having an all-access pass to pretension and I'm not passing this up.
It's a terrible idea. But we're locked in now. It's on.