Special K

I dated a boy once.

It was fun. For a decent while I was more than satisfied with what our relationship was. And for as much as we all have fun joking about how much I strike a resemblance to Side Show Bob, credit goes to this guy for SSB's lone true appearance to date. Liz was the only witness. One winter morning, after spending the weekend together, my hair was C.R.A.Z.Y. frizzy (you know - from the relations) and she swears that THAT is the only time I've had hair wild enough to look anything like the cartoon character.

But, back to the boy. I'll call him "Special K". For 3 reasons:

1. His name begins with, appropriately, a K.
2. He's special.
3. Just like the cereal, while very tasty and not necessarily bad, you can't live off it it- regardless of what Kellogg's and their "2 week" challenge claim. It's starvation.

This past weekend, my baby brother David came into town for Thanksgiving. He and Daniel, along with an assortment of their cronies, were going to hit Westport. I agreed to meet up with them late in the evening. We ended up at Kelly's (not my idea - just for the record!). There was a band, doing all covers - I think. I know I heard a Weezer and a Tool Song.

I'm jamming out with David when all of a sudden someone felt closer to me than a normal stranger would be. Next thing, he's got me by the nape of my neck***, pulling me towards him and trying to yell something in my ear. I start to freak out because I'm thinking that I'm gonna have to karate chop some random's ass.

But then I see that it's Special K. What. The. Eff?

Then he repeats himself. I still can't make out what he's trying to yell at me, so I do the universal head-shake-while-pointing-to-ears-and-shrug gesture. He then screams in to my ear "What are the odds that that guy" points to David, who is oblivious to this whole exchange thus far "is gonna get lucky with Natasha tonight?" Special K slyly smiles to himself, making a look I could only interpret as "Oh yeah - I totally just called you out and made you feel super awkward. Score!"

I ask "That guy?" and point to the still oblivious David. "Zero." And to emphasize my point, I make a goose egg with my left hand.

Confused and a little startled, Special K pauses. He then asks me "What are my odds?"

"Zero." And to emphasize my point, I make a goose egg with my left hand. "That guy" pointing to David who has finally realized I'm talking to someone else and is looking at us "is my brother."

Harder than bombs over Baghdad, his face exploded in a disgusting realization of what that made his first question (effing gross) and therefore he himself was victim to the super awkwardness. 2 beats later "So wait - I don't even have better odds than your brother?"

No, Special K, you don't.

***At first I thought some random creep was wanting to toussel my tresses, which, that wouldn't have been the first time that happened that night. SERIOUSLY people. Random people touch my hair. MHISOOOOMBTY.