Saturday 10th November 2007
The dreaded Leaving Do finally arrived.
My first night out in months. Was I nervous? What, of seeing people I care about for the first time in ages? Drinking and having fun? Of course I bloody was, and thank God it’s over.
Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite as horrendous as I’d feared, but the best thing to come out of it was this diary and even this had been meant as a joke. Abandoned on the bar next to my sister’s ‘Let’s Keep Him Out There Longer!’ collection, there had been no name on the gift label, just a message saying, “Use this on your travels and quit putting your issues on Myspace!” which I don’t think is entirely fair. Faceparty and Friends Reunited are where it’s at nowadays and I’ve not been on Myspace in donkeys.
I’d arrived at the pub early and, when the new girl wasn’t looking, I poured myself a quick double to steady the nerves. Then I started blowing up balloons. Now tell me, is there anything more pathetic than putting up decorations for your own party? Perhaps, because next I emptied my own nuts. Cashews to be specific, that went into bowls on the bar alongside the obligatory Frazzles. I clambered over chairs to hang up my own banners before taking a quick selfie on my fancy new ‘smart’ phone to check my acting skills. Would my ‘happy face’ convince people I was actually happy?
Looking at the results, I should’ve won a bloody Oscar. There were realistically jolly dimples in my fat cheeks and my blond hair was finally gelled into something resembling a style, giving the impression I gave a damn. It was reassuring to see I could still fool people if I needed to. Can’t have them asking too many questions. There were convincingly cheerful blue eyes above my nose, even if that nose was “a pig snout with pores big enough to serve pudding in.” Not my words. Below that, the top button of my shirt strained to contain where my chin and neck merged into one seamless roll of fat. “It makes you look like A GIANT THUMB!”
I always try to stay cheerful, even though my self-confidence is gone. I tried to make sure my party guests enjoyed themselves, even as I avoided making eye contact with them. Talk about an uncomfortable evening. Yet I was still way more relaxed with the Straights early on than I was at the club afterwards with ‘my own kind’, because sometimes I really can’t stand The Gays. There, I said it.
With only one exception that I can think of, every gay guy I’ve ever met has sucked. And not in a good way. It was the same last night. All those sideways looks and bitchy comments, it’s enough to make a homo homophobic. Fake-tanned clones danced about like pumped up peacocks, gyrating in perfect rhythm, flicking over-processed hair, wearing jeans that looked sprayed on and seductively peeling off vests that were barely there in the first place… I have nothing in common with any of them, so how could I feel anything other than inadequate? I finger-pointed my way through three consecutive Britney remixes whilst trying to keep my guts sucked in, and eventually wiped my pale and sweaty face on the sleeve of my ill-fitting, non-designer jumper and re-joined Michael at the bar to get my breath back. He’d immediately tutted.
“Oh, for Gaga’s sake, Kev. You’re off to the other side of the world in the morning! TRY to enjoy yourself.” He patted my knee and sighed dramatically, pushing his dark curly hair from his eyes. “If there was EVER a time for you to take a risk and do something crazy it would be now. Break out of your comfort zone. Do something you’ll regret in the morning.” A grin spread across his face. “Or someone.”
He pointed across the bar to one of the many people out of my league. “What about him? He’s super cute.”
A rippling Adonis was leaning nonchalantly on the wall, arms bulging as he swigged from a bottle of beer. He turned to speak to a friend and his butt swung into view like two smuggled in footballs.
“No chance,” I scoffed. “Look at him! Besides, I honestly couldn’t be less interested in men at the moment. I think Phil turned me into a lesbian.”
We both gurned at the thought.
“The only thing I have any intention of staggering home with tonight is a portion of chips and a battered sausage.” I jiggled my belly dramatically. “You don’t get a figure like mine without working on it, you know.”
As usual, Michael rolled his eyes. He doesn’t like it when I put myself down, not understanding that if I do it first then no one else can beat me to it.
“For the third time tonight, hun, you are not fat.” He put his arm around me and gave me a tight hug. “You just stand out more, that’s all.”
I smiled even as I pulled away, aware of how wobbly and sweaty I must feel.
“You know those people who starve themselves when they’re miserable?” I sighed. “Why can’t I be more like them? I’d be skinny in no time. Instead, I just want to cut myself…” Michael shrieked in horror and grabbed my arm to check for scars. “… a big piece of cake,” I finished. We’d laughed then and it had felt good. It was the first one I’d had in ages.
“Kev, can I make a suggestion?” Michael’s face turned unusually serious. “You haven’t had a proper snog since You Know Who. I think you should have a practise session before you go, just to iron out any kinks.”
“You Know Who? I didn’t date Voldemort, you can say his name. And what do you mean snog someone? Who? I’m not just gonna go up to someone and…”
“Look,” he interrupted. “You don’t want all those Aussie hunks to think us Brits are bad kissers, do you?” He grabbed my top and pulled me close. “Just find someone quick, because if you don’t score by chucking-out time you’ll have to make do with me. And that would be weird,” he added quickly.
I was too nervous to go near anyone else and as we left Michael made good on his threat. It wasn’t as awful as I imagined and he was right, I probably had needed a dress rehearsal. It’s probably not wise to make out with your best mate and then scarper, but we refrained from an un-dressed rehearsal so no harm done.
