I showed up after work, late and sober, to a mostly male and completely drunk party.

A short time later a red-haired beauty arrived from the opera, in a formal dress, drawing the attention, impaired as it was, of all present. Making things worse for her, the friend who'd arranged to meet her there had already left. So she approached me, the most lucid and in my shabbily formal waiter suit, least threatening guest available.

I have a general knowledge that tends to annoy more than impress but it can be useful in situations like this so I began to ask her questions about herself with this in mind. It wasn't long before she volunteered that in high school she'd appeared as Nellie in South Pacific. Her face brightened when I asked how they handled the hair washing scene - a story she was going to enjoy telling.

Unfortunately we were interrupted by a hand-gun. Pointed at my chest. Our drunken host, Brian, was in his best Starsky and Hutch stance, making some joke about, "no show tune talk in his kitchen."

Another guest, Tom, pulled the gun away and removed the clip, admonishing him in his Alabama accent about how, even in the American South, it was poor etiquette to point a gun at a guest.

Danger averted, I looked back to see she was gone. From the room. From the party. Probably from the neighborhood, driving home while muttering about the friend who brought her there. Heading out myself I heard someone advising Brian not to pull a gun unless he intended to use. I'm still not sure how to take that.