Chardonnay Charlatan

"Its ok to kiss a fool, its ok to let a fool kiss you, but never let a kiss fool you!"

With recent events concerning the Chappie and Ash and men of their nature, I realise now, more than ever that one must learn to kiss many a frog before one meets her Prince. However, I do believe I’ve had more than my share of toads – warts and all!

One of the chief toads has to be the Chardonnay Charlatan. We met – as usual, at a glitzy dinner. In our line of work, there are plenty of events for drinking and merry making. And the guest list is absolutely crawling with smooth talking, suave individuals. Unfortunately, usually as good looking as they were charmers - there were very few genuinely nice ones among them!

As this night happened a while back, when I was young (er) and innocent (not really!). I had been on the prowl for my crush at the time - the Aging Lothario. As his name suggests, he was one of those more experienced (read to mean, older), smooth talking Casanova types that a young(er!) me – fresh faced and still idealistic, had fallen headlong in lust with.

Needless to say, he was bad news, but that’s a story for another day. I must say that he’s that’s the kind of bad news every girl likes having in her life … now and again. It spells danger and excitement. Also, because of such supreme good looks, one would never call him a Toad. Tall, dark and handsome, with come-to-bed eyes and a still young face matched up with a body to die for … lets just say there were no warts in sight. (Whether or not I had a proper look … is also, a story for another day.)

Too bad I’ve gotten older and wiser.

Anyway! There I was all dolled up in my Jolie-esque dress and MAC mask … ready to rock and roll. When the Lothario was nowhere to be found, I refused to waste the Pretty! After all, I was my stunning best, and there were plenty of other fish in the sea.

The low-neckline was probably more suitable for the Hollywood red-carpet (and the likes of Ms. Jolie!), but I’d convinced myself I could pull it off, with the help of my favourite party friend, vino. There is a side story here when I met up with my friend, Pixie, who despite sporting a more Posh Spice or Paris Hilton look (i.e. skinny stick insect!) had the renowned "tit-tape" in her possession. Something I desperately needed with the slashed-to-the-navel so called "dress" I was not quite wearing.

Once Pixie taped me down, I skipped out of the loos, back to party, secure in its hold. Who do I bump into, but Mr. Darcy himself who was scowling into his whiskey, alone in a corner.

He answered my (polite) greeting with a characteristic grunt. Then for reasons that were completely beyond me, he proceeded to grasp at straws to make conversation. Think along the lines of "Read any good books lately?"

Secretly delighted, I was having none of it. I had already met more than one bloke that evening who were clamouring for my attentions (of course, the dress had everything to do with it!) so I was feeling rather superior, you see. Trying to suppress my glee at his sudden attentions, I looked haughtily down my nose at him and sashayed past.

When I joined my table and reached to take a bite out of the appetiser in front of me, I realised in horror, that the tit tape, though dutifully stuck to my chest, had not grasped the material of the dress along with it. So I’d been talking to Mr. Darcy the whole time with two white plasters stuck to my chest for his full view and entertainment pleasure.

Add to that, my further humiliation when I found out much later that, Pixie, my so called good friend, and Mr. Darcy, were probably having their own "friends with privileges" arrangement at this point.

Yes, definitely, bring on the vino!

Many glasses on, I found myself cornered by an Octopus. Usually, he would’ve been just my type – all 6’2" tall, dark and well built. However, the heavily (obviously) put on British accent was unbearable. I’d come back from England after a decade and I didn’t have one! The Octopus had been there barely a year, and he was pretending to be Mancunian? Give me a break!

He wasn’t taking my thinly veiled hints to heart. It became increasingly difficult for this 5 foot nothing Vixen to escape his clutches in a socially acceptable manner. Just when I thought I’d have to shove him off with all the force I muster, in full view of my professional brethren, a taller than the average Malaysian, not so dark and handsome young man smoothly stepped in between us, to my rescue.

He turned to me with big seemingly sincere eyes, all concerned, playing the part of the White Knight. "I apologise for my colleague, he’s had one too many," he said properly, easily moving in where the Octopus had left off. Oh this was a Smooth Operator alright, but don’t think I was fooled!

He took my hand in a chivalrous fashion and introduced himself politely. His next words were, "May I just say wow?" (I noted he looked right in my eyes as he said it, not anywhere south-bound.) Holding on to my hand longer than decorum allowed, he continued charmingly, "That is some dress you’re wearing." (Points for honesty here!)

What did I tell you about suave, smooth talking individuals? I couldn’t help but be flattered. Do you blame me? Not only had he played Knight-In-Shining-Armour, he said the exact right thing. I know it was a line, but it was all in the delivery … and the Chardonnay Charlatan delivered very well indeed!

To make a long story short, we hooked up. Yes, it was quick, but hey, we were both liquored up, he was charming, and I was willing! I had actually heard of the Chardonnay Charlatan before, he was certainly making waves in his line of work. His (professional) reputation was impressive and I had no idea he was so young. Or good looking.

Or tall.

He took my card, and promised he’d get in touch. Though I didn’t really believe him, I’m ever the optimist. I hope the many knocks I keep getting in life don’t ever take this quality away from me. The Charlatan tried persuading me to go home with him – of course! I’d have been insulted had he not at least attempted it!

Thankfully, I had enough sense to resist. We got further than I’d like to remember on the dance floor … (maybe we should’ve gotten a room after all!) I’d convinced myself there were no witnesses.

So much for not wanting not to embarrass myself in front of my colleagues. Guess that flew out with window with me flashing Mr. Darcy earlier that evening!

But when the club was about to close, I decided it was time to make a graceful exit. (too little, too late!) and excused myself.

The Charlatan grinned at me in disappointment, but by now he’d already known I wasn’t going home with him (Yes, I have been known to demonstrate some willpower from time to time …). He let me leave the room … and just as I was making my way up the stairs, I heard my name being called out. Blinking twice, I turn back and to see the Charlatan running to catch up with me.

But he wasn’t alone.

He was with a young woman, casually dressed, so she couldn’t have been there for the dinner. I believe he told me she was his sister, but I cannot be sure. He put me in a cab, ever the gentlemen, while the young woman and I eyed each other suspiciously.

What can I say - we were right to be suspicious. What sibling comes and picks you up at 4 am in the morning after a night out anyway? Despite the fact he’d gotten in touch with me the very next day … I’d also found out she was in NO WAY related to him … and most likely, the girl he refuses to acknowledge as his girlfriend.

Bah! What else is new? I found the perfect quote to end this post. Its off my favourite character from Sex and the City:

"Men cheat for the same reason dogs lick their balls: because they can."

-Samantha Jones-

Needless to say, I share Sam's sentiment.