Gladly Missed Connection

A lot of people are familiar with the "Missed Connections" section on Craigslist. I was at the Pink Party this past weekend and I decided to post a sort of anti-missed connection to someone I had the displeasure of meeting.

You were at the Pink Party on Saturday night at the MCA Warehouse. You wore sunglasses even though the sun had gone down four hours earlier that day. You criticized the Cher impersonator's wig and makeup even though you looked like you'd gone to a mortician to get your own hair and makeup done. You modeled your shoes to everyone and expected them to tell you how fabulous they were, probably because you couldn't see them on your own with that belly of yours protruding out like you were expecting twins.

I found it rude when you approached everyone, including my friends, and pulled the backs of their shirts open to see what designer they were wearing. I wasn't lying when I told you that I didn't recognize the name of the person who designed your hideous tie. Frankly, my four year old nephew's finger paintings look more attractive than that awful thing you had around your neck.

Nobody cares that this was the hundredth charity event that you simply HAD to attend for fear of being labeled "missing in action among Chicago's well-to-do gay elite." Nobody cares that you're attending the Chicago House World Tour Gala and can't decide between wearing the Christian Dior tuxedo or the Versace tuxedo. I honestly didn't think that either of those designers made tuxedo coats that big. I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that Gianni or Donatella didn't have your midsection overhang in mind when they decided to put out men's evening wear.

If you are such an important member in gay Chicago's wealthy society of charitable do-gooders, then why did I not see you at the silent auction table? Oh, that's right... you were at the bar, not tipping the bartenders and devouring handfuls of hors d'oeuvres all evening.

I don't remember your name and it wasn't because I had six vodka tonics that night. I just didn't think you were all that important. I realize now that I've just devoted a whole blog entry to you and it's only because I hope that someday, someone you know will read this and know that I am talking about you. He or she will get a chuckle out of it and tell two friends about it. Then they'll tell two friends. Then they'll tell two friends, and so on. Maybe not this month, maybe not this year, but someday you'll be at one of your black tie affairs in a tuxedo that you had to squeeze into and everyone in the room will know that on one chilly Yom Kippur evening at the Pink Party in Chicago... one gay man was not impressed by you.