I was incensed that such a creature had managed to exist in this world without my prior knowledge. That feeling was quickly extinguished by the reality that I was at MichFest. Perfect conditions for seduction. How would I get her attention without tripping on a miniature twig, or chat her up without destroying a reasonable sentence? I can be very very smooth you know, but in this instance I felt like a mouse in tomato soup. And I hate tomato soup.
I then set myself the task of pretending there were more important things to do, like marinating bean curd and counting peas. I was desperate not to become an ineffective staff member. I took to sweeping the grass outside the kitchen, fluffing lettuce leaves like pillow ruffles in the cooler and writing kitchen procedures on how to write kitchen procedures. It was all enormously important stuff that (I thought) would make me indispensible. Comments like “Wow Zy, you are a machine” made me feel extremely useful but, more significantly, the bout of activity saw me through to the end of the week without falling in love or eating my young. I did not think about Hot Stuff..
Saturday night finally came. This was the opening of the social program for the volunteers and staff, around 250 hungry-for-lovin’ lesbians. It was the first real opportunity to make an impression on the girls you were keen on. Plural. Nobody at Michigan likes just one person. Oh, except me..
To Be Continued..
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