Lesson of 2010 – just because someone dares you to do something, it doesn’t mean you have to do it.
Also, life isn’t Billy Madison and dares aren’t just about touching Veronica Vaughn’s boob.
3rd Grader: I dare you to touch her boobs.
Billy Madison: Touch her boobs? That’s assault brotha. You double dare me?
Anyway, month or so ago I went out with my colleagues for a going away party downtown Toronto. First we went for drinks and poutine (we’re all mega poutine fans here) then we went somewhere where the party was kicked up a notch.
So we’re at this club, where the music was hip-hoppable, there were people dancing and ‘rapping’ on the tables and there was women the size of men in dresses made to fit a 12 year old – being the tall height of 5’3″ I was at an uncomfortable motor-boating height with most of these ladies…turn my head and BAM, boobs in face. Not awesome…but whatever.
At one point in the evening, all of the lights went out, people brought out sparklers and the entire bar starting singing happy birthday as two cakes were brought out to this guy, who apparently is a big deal. What’s that all about? How do you get to a point in your life where a night club will stop everything to sing you happy birthday. A birthday shout out over the PA is one thing, but commanding the entire crowd to sing happy birthday is another. I’m just happy with a facebook message on my birthday…alright, that’s a lie, I throw myself a big shindig every year.
Twenty minutes later, after the music went back on and people were back to ‘rapping’ into the microphone, no one had touched the birthday cake. The $1000 bill cake was staring/taunting/enticing all of us.
Not that cake…but you get the gist. Here’s what happened next:
Kevin: I’ll give you $50 if you put your hand in that cake and take a bite
Me: No way…but I’ll do it for $200 (money’s been tight lately)
Max: I’m in
Jenny: I got $50
Amin: I’ll throw in the rest
So, with a dare being a dare, I accepted the challenge.
When the coast was clear, I had one more look around and then formed a shovel with my hand and attacked the cake.
Here’s the thing, the cake had Royal icing on it. My fingers didn’t go through, I just put a dent in it. WTF. I looked up and there was this guy who was giving me the ‘hate eye’. Like, mad, serious hate eye.
We all laughed and I went to the other side of the group, because I then realized, that putting your hand in someone’s cake, even if it is for $200 is probably not the nicest or smartest thing I could do.
Turns out that the owner of the $1000 cake is pretty much a Toronto ‘gangsta’ and this is why the entire bar stopped for his birthday. So, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I’m lucky my hand didn’t go through the cake and that I’m an impulsive idiot sometimes.