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The party was over; at least, as far as I'm concerned it was.

Then Mark knocked on my bedroom door. "Sorry to bother you," he said. "There's some guy downstairs, and he won't leave."

So I went downstairs, and this dude was sitting on the couch with his jacket on. Waiting for someone, from the looks of him.

I found myself torn between the roles of gracious-host and alpha-male.

I turned off the music. Then I looked at him and nodded and said, "You got somewhere to go, man?"

He started making inquiries after the young lady. I let him know that she was "upstairs."

Apparently a certain social situation was something other than what he thought it was.

I said, "No, I think she's doing all right."

Finally he clued in. He got up and cursed and swore and stomped out of our house.

He slammed the door on his way out. Mark and I just looked at each other in disbelief.

The chumpery of my fellow males is a never-ending source of dismay. What is your affection rooted in, if you can be hoping to share someone's company one minute and cursing her name the next?

If you really like her, shouldn't you be glad that she is safe and well taken care of? Unless your attraction is based on insecurity.

...Anyway. I believe I once stated that the definition of a date is not who you arrive with.