Standing, drink in hand, surveying the dance floor and its patrons, I search for the eyes of men and find none. I thought for sure that they would stare, gawk, marvel, ogle. Something.
Then I look at their costumes. They didn’t put effort into them. Some are downright pathetic. I look closer and see what I could have guessed if I had just taken the time to think.
Men came to stand by girlfriends while they dance, making sure to look cool. They came to catch they eyes of a hot lady on the dance floor while keeping to the sidelines. They came to wingman their buddy. They came to drink and shake it.
Those men didn’t come for the spectacle of Myself the Fairy. Sometimes my expectations are silly.