Mr. Nice Guy

So, I went to this party at my best friend's house a little while ago, and there were loads of singletons milling about. Since my friend is currently unattached, she wanted to make sure there were lots of flirting options available. The only reason I, a married chick, scored an invite is that (a) I'm off the market and am therefore not viewed as competition, and (b) I've known the host since it was cool to french-roll your jeans.

Anyway, the problem with inviting loads of singletons is that singletons bring uninvited company. If you don't bring your own posse, you run the risk of becoming the shrinking violet in the corner nursing a Solo cup. So you surround yourself with people so that it looks like you aren't lonely and therefore don't need the company of the sundry other singles at the party. This is how Mr. Nice Guy was mixed in among the partygoers. He overheard my friend inviting co-workers to the party, and when he decided that the invitation included him, the co-workers didn't disabuse him of that notion, 'cause hey, the more the merrier, eh?

The reason I'm calling the gatecrasher Mr. Nice Guy is not because he fetched drinks or let people cut in front of him in the bathroom line. I call him this because he punctuated every verbal exchange with "Niiiiice." There he was, in his 10-year-old lacrosse cap and urban utility belt, blocking the door to the kitchen and the keg. My friend, who was leading the way, sighed, and suddenly I felt like one of the Billy Goats Gruff.

"This is my friend Mary. She works in marketing, and her husband is getting a graduate degree," said my friend, edging past him and into the kitchen, leaving me and little Bro behind.

"Nice," said Nice Guy, and nodded.

"Yeaaah," I said. Sure, it was nice that my husband was seeking higher education, but there's no way to advance conversation when someone reacts to a declarative statement with an adjective. I opted for my friend's tactic of making Nice Guy someone else's problem. and introduced little Bro.

"This is Chris; he's my younger brother," I said, and stepped past Nice Guy.

"Nice," said Nice Guy, and nodded.

What? That doesn't even make sense. Why is it nice that he's my brother? Was this guy even listening to what he said? I know we all have our semantic crutches, but the lesson learned here is that you've gotta evaluate what's coming out of your mouth every once in awhile and determine if maybe you need to change it up a little.