Bad Company

Of the eleven people at dinner yesterday, I was the only unattached party. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the lot, among whom two are good friends, two nodding acquaintances and the rest complete strangers, ganged-up against me.

After many drinks were had, things took an ugly turn when someone had this sudden bright idea that we should all sing. It’s hard enough to keep a straight face when some really drunk people start to dish out some really out-of-tune fare but it’s bloody torture when people start demanding that you should sing too. Solo! Requests to be excused failed, as did threats, minor tantrums and diversions. It was as though the very future of the world depended on whether I sang or not. When one of them dropped down on his very cushioned knees to implore me to sing, it became very clear that not singing was not an option.

I must have died a hundred deaths in the 15 painfully nervous seconds that it took me to croak one line.

Arrgh! The indignities one has to suffer in polite company, I tell you!