"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die." Mel Brooks

Grocery Man was not my only brush with man's astonishing ability to offend women. I don't know whether I give off some sort of signal, but for every decent guy who asks me out, I get to put up with a howling arsehole who learned his wooing technique from porn films.

A friend of a friend had organised a big party in a nightclub. She had hired the entire venue. For a small cover fee, we got a DJ, cheap drinks and nibbles for the night. Best of all, I got to play with a roomful of people I'd never met before for the night. My idea of heaven.

A group of us met up beforehand and did the girly dress-up thing while sinking a few drinks. We were in the mood to play up and have a good time. I love frocking up for a party. Makes me feel positively delicious.

We arrived not too early, not too late, dressed to kill and looking for fun. We headed straight for the bar, flirting with everything in between in the meantime. Lots of talent. I chatted up the barman and the guy next to me as a warm up. I was feeling good.

The crowd was fun, the music was great and we were having a great time. I'd just taken a break from dancing and was reclining gracefully on a couch when I spotted a guy looking at me. He was cute.

He was quite tasty actually.

Snappily dressed in a suit, cheeky smile. It was all of the good. I met his eye, grinned like a Cheshire cat and waited for the line to be reeled in.

You would think I would learn wouldn't you.

Like iron filings to a magnet, he made his way across the room and sat down beside me. And with a straight face, he asked, "How would you like to go into the bathroom with me and give me a blow job?"

My adamant refusal puzzled him. I actually ran out of ways to say no, in English and in several other languages.

"We could go outside and do it if you like..."

Like I had a problem with the LOCATION of where this romantic rendezvous would occur? It took him a little while to grasp the concept that it was not the WHERE that I had a problem with, it was the WHAT.

He also seemed to have difficulty with the idea that I didn't get anything out of his offer. I carefully explained to him that, surprisingly enough, the idea of going down on him right now didn't bake my noodle, grotty bathroom or equally grotty alleyway notwithstanding.

Comprehension finally dawned.

"OH! I'd fuck ya after!"

Oh, gee, thanks. No, really. You're too kind.

By this stage, I wasn't just giving him the cold shoulder, there was an Antarctic breeze blowing between us. I had turned my back on him, only to come face to face with one of his mates.

"I'm really sorry he's acting like this," he apologised.
"Not as sorry as I am," I replied.
"He's not really like this," he insisted loyally.

Uh-huh. He was bitten by the flaming arsehole bug tonight. Right.

Is it too much to ask for a little mental foreplay beforehand? I'm a sexual being, don't get me wrong. I just like a little flirting, a little play before we get down to the sweaty stuff. Believe me, stimulate my grey cells and I'll offer to do things that are illegal in most countries.

But then again, these days, how many people warm the engine before they pull out of the driveway?

Perhaps this is just the frog-kissing that we all need to go through before we find our prince. I just wish someone had warned me about the toads.

[Postscript: The night wasn't an entire waste. I woke up the following morning to find... the most gorgeous black feather boa I've ever seen. No idea where I got if from, but damn it looks good!]