Breakfast Buffet

A friend of mine took me to a church social tonight. She told me that it’s a great place to meet women, as there are many more women than men there and that many of the men are gay. She was true to her word—there must’ve been four girls for every boy, and twelve girls for every straight boy.

I get comfortable early, realizing that I’m in a target-rich environment and that the odds are in my favour. An attractive blonde starts chatting me up, and while she’s nice enough and pretty enough, I’m not all that interested. There are just too many other attractive women around. I liken it to the buffet in Las Vegas—you don’t sit there eating the chicken when there’s all that shrimp there!

But a funny thing happened while I was talking to the one girl. Most of the other women left. En mass. It was weird—one minute I’m in a sea of estrogen, the next minute I’m at a weenie roast. Not all the girls left, but the happy ratio I witnessed when I first arrived had changed dramatically, and not for the best. I didn’t even know what had happened.

My friend told me that many of the women here come to the socials, see that it’s the same people as always, and then leave early. She wasn’t joking. A little over an hour into the soiree, the party had pretty much flamed out.

Another friend of mine jumped onto my buffet analogy, explaining that it’s the breakfast buffet. You gotta get there early, and you gotta grab what you want fast before it runs out. If I do one of these church socials again, I’ll have to keep that in mind.