Dilemma corner: any answers?

It’s Sunday morning, I’m still in bed, chomping on cereal and musing on a dilemma. It has to do with Scissor Sisters. Yes, those pesky androgynous glam-vamp disco freaks have got me good.

Here’s the skinny*. I have done some recent work for the band, and been rewarded with a couple of tickets to their June gig. Before doing the work, I’d mentioned it to a group of friends. And among this group was a guy… OK, you can guess the rest. I’ve only recently got to know him, and I will admit, in the interests of full disclosure, I’d never considered him especially goodlooking. Let’s be frank: you probably wouldn’t either.

Still, there’s something about him. He smiles a lot; he seems quite thoughtful about others. And he’s funny. Proper, gag-a-minute funny. He can make you snort at 40 paces. Sometimes the witty asides come out so fast that they seem to overtaken his own brain and he can look as surprised and delighted by the joke as the rest of us.

When we’d been talking about the Scissor Sisters, Funny Boy had professed a great love for them. He was the first person I thought of when they offered me the tickets. Later that day, I bumped into DOC. He told me he’d just been trying to buy tickets for Scissor Sisters but they’d sold out. Obviously I couldn’t my own face at that point, but I imagine it had that confused/frightened/constipated look they give Scooby Doo when he’s trying to understand what the rest of the gang are talking about.

What do I do? DOC is still showing interest in me. He sent me an email on Friday morning containing just the word: ‘lunch?’ This sort of spareness of communication is catnip to someone as garrulous as me, suggesting as it does levels of self-restraint and cool that I will never achieve. I will, of course, lunch. But who do I invite to Scissor Sisters?

*Yes, I’ve been watching far too much American telly. If anyone actually knows why the word ‘skinny’ means ‘information’, please, please let me know, because it’s killing me.

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