The Orgy

| 4 April 2013

I got the invite. It said "come with an open mind and be prepared to try new things, taste different flavours from countries far away."


I am a tried and tested traveller and party-goer and I know that sometimes, people have a tendency to exaggerate in their invitations, to make it grander than it is, akin to the candlelight club, but then again, perhaps anticipation is the best drug as it induces excitement and the need to present oneself in one of two ways, either the best possible light, and there you work with what you have in your wardrobe-going-out repertoire, or an opportunity to reinvent yourself, cue a visit to www.google.com, where you shop through the millions of internet pages to find the character you want to channel for the occasion.

Well, the invite said it was an orgy, and that there would be a medley to choose from, so I thought it best to go looking demurely sexy. Thankfully, Google is that best friend that you can tell everything to, and it doesn't share your secrets with others, well, excepting the media agencies and third party companies who can trail your internet activity with the funny techie geek thing known as a cookie. Now why would you create a stalker ware and call it something as harmless as "cookie"? Why! Especially as I'm on my weight loss mission and ticking that I accept this "cookie" every time I go on a random website does very little for my hunger pangs and my anger management. I have been known to scream at the laptop. Poor Macbook, at least it was named apple, which sends waves of healthy-eating negative calories-calm through my body, calming and attaining a technology-state-of-zen.

I asked google "what to wear to an orgy?" She, google that is, my best friend, came up with several helpful things, and gave me guidelines, linking me to pages that said "what to wear to your first sex party", "tips on how to make an impression at an orgy-party". What impression! I thought. It is an orgy. Everybody is expecting to get some, no impression necessary, this is not a speed-dating event, although, whether one wants to make an impression at a speed-dating event is debatable. Í mean who goes to a speed-dating party?

Yes, yes, I know, you might ask, who goes to an orgy party too. That is not the point. This IS MY story and I can tell you what I want to. Anyways, I asked google some questions and she said that I shouldn't wear expensive heels. I should not wear any dress too expensive and I should definitely not take any condoms, since orgies were for sharing. You see this is the thing with google, she starts by giving me helpful advice and then rapidly descends into some sort of weird Dr-Ozzy type aunt, and I'm not sure if she's joking or playing and sometimes I even think I want to terminate our friendship but I can't because Jeeves was not so good and BING is totally rubbish and all the other engines just don't seem to think the way I do, AND they judge me!

So, after several conversations over drinks, with google, I decided to wear a burgundy dress, fitted with slits at the back, so that way, from the front I look like an angel, but from the back, it is a bit more risqué. You catch my drift?

I wore flat converses, I mean, yes I trust my friend to invite no-crazies, but who turns up to an orgy unless they have some sort of extreme open-mindedness, which in some situations can be read as craziness. The flat converse shoes would be a good talking point (con-versation - corny, I know) but also provide me with a quick getaway if things become too "risqué".

I thanked google and compensated her by clicking on a few links to buy my dress. Purchase over, the anticipation began and I was doubly excited when my dress came. It looked nothing like what it was advertised as, but hey, this is what I get for buying "orgy-clothing" but it had to do.

The day came, I had a milk-bath, to channel my inner Cleopatra, and put on angelic-demon make-up. I don't know what that means, but I'm happy for you to speak to my best-friend, the fountain of all knowledge, the owner of the secrets of man, woman, and beast, the keeper of all plagiarisms and the defender of free-living.

I took strawberries covered in chocolates, from god-diva and sauntered into my cab to my destination. I had kept my plans for the  evening a secret cos I didn't want my friends to judge me, although I'm aware that is what all friends do. I pressed the door-bell, took in a deep breath and waited.

Door opened and I scanned, to see a few people I knew, and some I didn't know, but hey all is cool. I thought the whole set-up looked too normal, but then I thought, maybe that was the aim, like the movie, "The Last Supper"*

My poor over-active imagination.

The night continued, people had brought foods from different parts of the world. Starters led to mains which led to desserts. Frankly I like my food to be simple, too many different things to taste from massively confuses my stomach which confuses my brain, which is over-active on the best of days. The confused brain led to my incessant twitching and delivery of random lies, saying "oh, yum, this is so nice, I've always wondered what they ate in Uzbekistan". No I've not, but now, maybe I do, okay I don't but in a way, I do wonder what Uzbeks eat at dinner parties. And the night descends into more nose-extending actions and I try not to drink too much so I'm sober-like for the main party. Desserts came and I proffered my strawberries in chocolates as a nod to french delicate dessert-making. I know, the things I come up with!

Then after desserts, we had tea and coffee and then people started to leave. At this point, I started to think that maybe only a select-few of us had been invited to the orgy, and so our invites were different, and no one was saying anything about it, and so I didn't say anything too. I waited and continued to endure boring conversation on the brain formation of rabbits and why even though we think fruits do not have any brains, research is showing that they in fact, do. Except that our conceptualisation of brain-matter is limited and doesn't extend to include other thinking-feeling-reactive abilities that fruits definitely have, which enables them to respond to the environment. BLA BLA BLA Drone.

But I endured it because he was hot. Good-looking, tall and had the perfect skin. He turned out to be gay. I only know this cos I googled him after the party which was not an orgy mind you. It was a food-festival that my silly friends decided to name as  "the orgy" to sound exciting in a bid to spice up our unremarkable and  simple lives.

So only you, my readers, here, know what I was expecting. Shhhh. Well, you and google.  I mean who comes up with orgy as a name for food parties! Why don't you just call it a food fest or food party! Although if new followerisms are anything to go by, expect to be invited to "The Orgy", be warned. It is just a food party. Don't go expecting anything more.

Anyways, I was only attending the party as scientific research for my new book, so it doesn't matter what you think.
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The Last Supper:



PS the above account is entirely fictional. You have to take my word for it.
PPS if you do get invited to a party billed as an orgy, don't assume it is purely a food party. It might very well be the real thing, in which case, attend at your own discretion.




1 comments:

{ IgboOlodumare } at: 4 April 2013 17:39 said...

The badest ever.

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