Butterfly Plays Wingman
When I was younger, altruism was hardly a merit I could commend myself with, less so when I have alcohol in me because quite simply, I do not give a shit.
As maturity sips in and time marches to it's own beat, ignoring my protest of a growing waistline and fleeting stamina, I discovered that karma didn't have an expiry and that it's never too late to cultivate good deeds to soothe it's wrath.
That night, I decided I would do the best deed a guy could do for another - heterosexually speaking. To ensure that the friend would score. To play that sacred sidekick so well, that it would make Robin look as useless as an erection would be on a monk. I was going to be THE wingman.
It wasn't so much that DL had crafted the night, but a sheer co-incidence that there were two Koreans that started dancing before us. I was going to start my relationship with my towering bottle of vodka, but DL had other ideas.
DL: "Wing for me, I'm going for the one on the left."
I wasn't going to protest because while they were nothing close to the K-Pop dolls that MTV celebrates so proudly, they were decent looking to say the least. They were horrible dancers to say the least or maybe they had earphones on, but beyond that there was nothing too visually disjointed so long as we weren't juxtaposing them with the other fleet of blonde models at the podium.
The downside to this duo was that the girl I had to talk to spoke as much English as a Russian squirrel, so I spent half the time trying to simplify a sentence and the other half pretending I had any interest or understood what she was saying.
I would quote many instances where more attractive women would pass and I felt dreadfully distracted, but I saw through this horde of red herrings that karma was throwing before me. I was going to make sure that DL was going off with the girl, even if my facial muscles degenerated from all the fake smiling.
6 glasses in and we were ready to leave, despite the continual cajole from the pumping base that occasionally coaxed my feet into a couple of side taps.
Whilst I wasn't the perfect wingman I had thought I would be, I played it to two very simple principles,
1. Distract the female friend
2. Allow my friend to leave with her friend
For that, I figured that I would have to make a slower exit from the club and leave as much distance between DL with the girl and me. By simple rationale, I derived that distance in this equation, was directly proportional to the success rate.
When we finally got out, DL was already holding the girls hand about 20 paces infront of me. the other started tapping my arm and pointed fervently to her friend and verbalized what I thought was her excitement in Korean - which other than the words 'Nobody nobody but you', I understood nothing of.
I thought maybe she wanted me to hold her hands as well, but the tapping got harder and her string of Korean sentences got louder and more intensed. She was freaking out, over her friend holding hands with what would have been a stranger 6 drinks ago. I didn't know if she was a virgin, a nun or 11 years old but it just got ridiculous.
Then DL made the quick move. Blindingly swift and confident, he ushered himself with the girl into the cab and it made a beeline for infamy. I was left with a confused Korean, still trying to figure out why her friend had left her behind.
I had to contend with the next 5 minutes of what seemed like repetitive questioning from a 3 year old.
Kgirl: "Where my friend?"
Me: "She went back with my friend."
Kgirl: "No.. where my friend?"
It went on and on. In exactly the same question and reply structure, but with varying intensity or agitation and tone. I finally offered to send her back home because she was staying just within 15 mins walking distance from my place and I figured that was the only righteous thing I could do.
For the entire duration of the cab ride, she hounded me to call DL when I found it weird on why she didn't want to call her friend instead. When we got back, she insisted that I accompany her up to see if her friend was back. I didn't know which part of "Your friend is at my friend's place" did she not understand, but maybe that was her excuse to lure me into her home to rape me.
30 mins later, I found myself at the lobby still trying to explain to her that her friend was with my friend.
Probably with 86 "Where is my friend?" questions later, I blew it.
Me: "YOUR FRIEND IS FUCKING MY FRIEND!!!"
And I yelled it with full hip thrusting gestures, hoping to paint the most carnal visual possible to her. She went ballistic.
Me: "YES!! THEY ARE FUCKING! RIGHT NOW! FUCKING AT HIS HOUSE!!"
Kgirl: "Noooo. Call him now!"
ME: "He is not going to pick up, because HE IS FUCKING HER NOW!"
I started walking off and she continued trailing behind me. Shocked, obviously tired, but still hysterical and still asking me the call him. At some point, I was almost convinced that she was going to follow me home. The last I looked back, she was standing by the road and that was it.
The next day, I called DL.
Me: "Dude, if there was an award for best wingman, I'm winning it. You owe me dude, you have no idea what I had to put up with."