dare me to drink red, red wine next time?

I showed up fashionably late to Fastlife’s White Party on Friday night. My designated wingwoman bailed on me, but I soldiered on. I was going there to mingle, after all, so while I didn’t have a partner in crime to help extricate me from any dead-end conversations, it was just going to force me to be more sociable.

Besides, that was the beauty of it all! Everyone was single, and everyone was looking. The embarrassing prospect of sashaying your way up to a likely lad and having his girlfriend slink up and mark her territory was taken out of the equation. The most embarrassing thing that could happen to me was dumping a drink down the front of my brand new white dress-which is why I stuck to vodka sodas all night. Know your weaknesses, friends. But tragedy was averted, and I was even able to manage my heels successfully.

There’s nothing quite like throwing on a low cut dress, a pair of heels, and having a captive audience of single men. Single men who’d cleaned themselves up for the occasion, no less. I was told that usually there are more women than men, but luckily for me, it was a sausage fest in there. I met a few Hamiltonians who told me stories of their strange encounters with ducks. Men often save those stories for later dates, but break ‘em out early, I always say. I also met a guy willing to teach me how to salsa. That worries me, because I feel like the odds are I can’t possibly have another accident-free night in heels for about a month.