the cotillion is closer to a circus than a ”ball”

i thought i knew these men……………but i don’t recognize them at all………..there seems to be leash attached…..but they aren’t visible to me………….and they seem to be led by hither and fro by piles of fake hair on the heads of women wearing stilts…….i tried to engage but i have no leash on me and the language you speak seems foriegn to me……….i am not good at this game and have no desire to learn…………….i found a good place to observe…………………and with a glass of punch and a plate of undetermined insects, i found a corner that welcomed me in………..

voices from past affairs quietly whispered to me….

”we sing this song to but a few…….our voices are tired and worn……..but the gist of it…….you do not fit……..and you look silly in this uniform………raise your glass as a toast to us…who came to your rescue………you are far too old and far to bold to continue doing things you never intended to do…….”

on that note i rose and twirled between the women dressed to impress each other and the men on leashes and went in the garden and rolled in the grass and frollicked in the fountian, leaving i adorned the rose bushes with various parts of the costume and drove home in my boxers………….i sent you a text and you have yet to respond to it……………….

”screw whomever it might offend i will never again play games i have no interest in……….while you may be having the time of your life…………..my time is to precious to pretend to be something i’m not…………i’ll sit this one out….and all that follow…..”

p.s.

small talk keeps us small