Extra Small Talk

There are days when I wake up, think about my behavior the night before, and roll my eyes at myself.

On a recent Tuesday night, I found myself at the HX Mixer at XES.Not 10 minutes in, I bumped into an ex-trick, who promptly introduced me to a very cute redhead. Anyone who knows me will tell you: I love redheads.

Things got better when I found out that Red worked for another gay magazine, and better still, worked in the department that handled invites to their frequent New York parties. As we chatted, he and I headed to the bar.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Vanilla vodka and ginger ale.”

“You’re not gay, are you?” I asked with a smirk. He didn’t seem to mind being made fun of. A good sign. A minute later, I handed him his cocktail.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“How about this,” I suggested with a smile, “I’ll give you my email address, you put me on the party mailing list, and we’ll call it even.”

He laughed. “Are you sure? I would do that anyway.”

“I’m sure,” I replied with a smile. Anyone who knows me will tell you: I love to be invited to parties.

Suddenly, it was time for the raffle. On the way in to the party the staff had asked everyone for a business card. I was sad to discover that I didn’t have any on me. As Peppermint, the night’s drag queen host took the stage, I was even more disappointed, when she announced what the prizes would be.

“Firrrrrrrrst,” she growled, “we have some Aaaaaaaaaandew Christian underwear!” Damnit. I love underwear, especially when it’s free. “Theeeeeeeen, we have some gift certificates, aaaaaaaaaaand... a trip to Brazil!”

I was pissed. Of course the chances I would have won were slim to none, but knowing that my card wasn’t in the bowl just made me bitter. Something had to be done.

Red and I found ourselves standing very close to the stage, right near Peppermint. As she drew the first three cards and began calling names of the underwear winners, I noticed her assistant, a boy from the HX staff, who was handing out the prizes. He was a young gay, cute in a dorky sort of way. He had an arm full of underwear, more than enough for the winners. As soon as he finished handing underwear to the first round of winners, I went up to him as Peppermint prattled on about the trip to Brazil.

“Hi,” I said, smiling.

“Um, hi,” he said, smiling back.

“So, if you have any extra pairs of underwear, I could give them a good home.” After I said it, I was slightly appalled that a line so cheesy escaped my lips, but in a crowded bar with the music pumping and a drag queen screaming, it seemed to work. Sort of.

“Well...” he said, looking at me, then looking at the 4 remaining packages of briefs in his hands, “Can you fit into an extra-small?”

The truth was, I couldn’t. Sure, they’d probably be ok around the waist, but really too tight in the crotch. But that wasn’t the point. It had become a game. And anyone who knows me will tell you: I LOVE to win games. I went into full Drama Queen mode.

“Huuuuuh!” I gasped dramatically, “are you calling me FAT?!?!?” And with that I grabbed his free hand and placed it on my hips, nudging it just slightly toward my ass. Shameless.

“Oh!” he gasped, “Um, I guess you can, um, of course!” And with that, he handed me a free pair of red extra-small Andrew Christian hip-cut underwear. Which I would probably never wear. I was thrilled.

“Thank you Sweetie,” I cooed. I may even have winked at him. Despicable. “I’ll let you get back to your job.”

I left the bar that night with the cute redhead’s phone number and a cute red hip-cut number. My dignity was nowhere to be found.