when i was in my early twenties, i lived in Houston, and i spent most of my time with Tanya and Mike. i've got history with them. for a few years, nearly every Saturday night, we went to this train wreck of a hotel bar that had somehow attracted the custom of the local BBS community. this place was absolutely fascinating...a grimy little petri dish and melting pot well-lubricated with tasty beverages. our tradition dictated that we arrive around 10pm or so, get a booth on the quieter end of the place, smoke and drink to excess, dance a little, and watch - agog - as the freakshow unfolded. over the years, we saw a lot of crazy shit. there are probably twenty stories i could tell about the place, but head and shoulders above them all stands Cliff.

one night, Tanya and i ventured to the bar on our own. when we arrived, Tanya stayed up by the door to say hellos, and i made a beeline for the bar to score drinks. one of our preferred booths was unoccupied, so i grabbed the coveted cushy side against the wall and settled in to people-watch while i worked on my first bottle.

Tanya made her way over with by a guy i didn't recognize. visually, he was the definition of beige: forty-ish, pasty, a little overweight, dressed in middle-management gear. he hadn't even been introduced before my brain had filed him under "dull" and moved on. i remember registering surprise that i didn't recognize him and that Tanya had friends at the bar that i'd never managed to meet by then. that was about all the curiosity i could get up.

i don't remember Tanya introducing him directly, but there was some brief exchange of information through which i learned that this damp pile of brown polyester was Cliff. i expected he'd linger a moment or two to chitter with Tanya and move on. Tanya took the seat across from me. he sat down next to her. i stared. this wasn't in the plan.

i didn't go to this bar looking for men, necessarily, but i wasn't averse to finding them. now, it was a de facto girls' night. i definitely wasn't there with the expectation of meeting anyone, but it's sort of like dieting. you want to be skipping indulgence because you're consciously limiting yourself - not because there's a lock on the pantry. and man-pantry aside, our other favorite activity was talking trash about all the crazy shit that happened there. with this guy hanging around and blathering about who knows what, that wasn't going to happen either. Cliff was cock-blocking and talk-blocking. high crimes.

he hadn't been at the table for two minutes before i was wishing i could turn him into a pile of ash with my mind. i couldn't, though. those powers were frantically engaged in firing a barrage of silent who-the-fuck-is-this-guys at Tanya across the table. my telepathy was apparently broken; hers was uncooperative.

Cliff was like a bit of toilet paper stuck to our shoes. he wouldn't go away. if we went to dance, he came with us. if we sat down again, he followed. since he was obviously at least a slight friend of Tanya's, i was reluctant to tell him to piss off directly. i couldn't drink fast enough. my attempts to telegraph my annoyance to Tanya failed. she seemed a little confused at his persistence but didn't seem inclined to shoo him, and i couldn't get her alone long enough to talk about it.

when we were at the table, Cliff engaged us in conversation, painfully. i wondered briefly if maybe Tanya was trying to back-alley me into a blind date, but i couldn't imagine she thought i'd be into this guy. that couldn't be it. she seemed at least nominally annoyed too, so she must just like him well enough that she didn't want to be rude. the bar was unusually free of most of the regulars to whom we might appeal for help. blast. we were stuck.

i remember little of Cliff's interminable conversation until he became bold and sat down next to me in the squishy and now uncomfortably intimate half-shell side of the booth. apparently Cliff was terrible at reading body language and impervious to the miasma of smoke i floated around me. he was starting to be a little flirty. gross. i couldn't believe Tanya was letting this guy get so chummy. even if she didn't want to hurt his feelings, she had to know i wasn't into him. he clearly didn't. i was getting ever more creeped out.

he looked down toward my lap and noticed my jeans. they had a hole in them on the upper thigh, and a little of the white pocket liner was showing through. i'm not sure how he even noticed it in the dim light of the bar, but he mistook this visible bit of liner for a pair of white tights. in a startling flash, he hoisted his calf up onto the table. he hiked up his turd-brown slacks to the knee. his leg was covered in close black material, but my brain wasn't processing what my eyes were seeing. he said, "oh, you're wearing tights too?"

too? wait...what?

oh no. just...no. my thoughts were tumbling faster than i could manage them. he couldn't have seen the steel-toed boots on my feet and thought that was a legitimate question, could he? if i'd been wearing a skirt, maybe, but i was in jeans. my legs hadn't seen tights since i quit ballet years before. wait a second...he said "too." too! his legs should be as pasty-white as the rest of him, but they're black. he's wearing tights. black Danskins, if i don't miss my guess. wait...too? he's wearing tights, and he wants me to know about it. he thinks he's found a common bond. he thinks that this is scoring points with me. with tights? TIGHTS?

i was at a loss. i think i stammered some explanation that, no, i wasn't wearing tights. i remember looking a little wild-eyed at Tanya. she was as shocked as i was, and it was clear she was about to bust up. she was exercising amazing control. i don't know how i kept a straight face. i'm not sure i did. but somehow the moment passed. i was probably too alarmed that this creepy guy was flirting with me to let the funny sink in.

after that, the night is sort of a blur...probably aided by liquor and despair. it felt a lot longer than it probably was. i think he explained why he liked wearing tights, but i seem to have blocked that out.

not long before that night, Tanya's younger brother had created a memorable moment. he's got a knack for the ridiculous, and he'd absolutely pasted their sister for being clumsy one day, suggesting that she ought to make a habit of wearing a helmet. i won't bore you with the details that might render it funny to you. suffice it to say that it stuck and helmets became a running joke.

not long after the tights incident with Cliff at the bar that night, Tanya asked him what he did for a living.

"i make helmets," he said.

we couldn't bite back the immediate laughter. it was time to go.

i can't remember how we extricated ourselves, but we fairly ran for the door. as i was pushing it open, i lost my cool and said, "oh my god. who the fuck was that guy?"

Tanya twitched and said, "i thought he was your friend."