I got slapped in the face.  I pulled some muscles in my stomach.  I broke my glasses.  I had ridiculously good sex.  So, of course, I will always remember it as a glorious night.  I just wish I had the slightest clue how it all came together.  But I have never quite managed to weave the threads of feminine behavior into a coherent tapestry.

THE NIGHT: In December of 1989  I was in my first semester at a state university, having already spent four fun-filled years at a small private college 50 miles away.  I got my usual "Plus-One" invite to the Kissmas party.  Kissmas was THE formal social event of the year for "Friendship," an independent sorority for which I had served as intra-mural coach and honorary member for four years.  No way I'd miss Kissmas. 

THE EX:  Kitten would be there, with her new boyfriend, Jimmy (whom only she called "James.")  Kitten and I had had one of those passionate and tempestuous two-year college relationships that often provided our friends with both amusement and frustration.  It was the kind of sturm und drang relationship upon which songwriters make their living.

THE NEW GIRL:  My date was Victoria.  She was something to behold.  She was an RA and the boys in her dorm called her the Ice Goddess.  Tall, Scandinavian, busty, gorgeous and boasting a towering 1989 hair-do that kept Aussie Sprunch Spray in business all by itself.  The thing about Victoria was that I chose her because she had a damned good sense of humor and was fun company.  Perfect person to take into a new situation where everybody knew each other.  She and I had been a little flirtatious at times, but no real heat.  The closest we ever came was when I described a perfect game-saving tackle I had made in high school as "better than sex."  Her arched eyebrow after that was priceless and very sexy.  When I asked her to go to the formal with me, I let her knew I thought of it as a friendship date and was taking her because she was so good with people.  I did warn her that Kitten would be there, but that she would have her new boyfriend of six months there.

THE EVENTS OF THE DANCE:  We walked in around 7.  Old friends--mostly female--showered me in hugs and then complimented Victoria on her dress and her beauty.  I turned around after receiving a bear hug from my old friend, Moose.  The crowd had parted, and there was Kitten about ten feet away.  She was wearing a gorgeous dress and her beau's black fedora.  I was momentarily jealous of Jimmy; it was a damned nice fedora.  "Hey, Kit," I said. 

She stepped up to me, and slapped me as hard as she could.  She was 5'8" and athletic, so she could smack pretty damned hard.  It made me grateful that it was the one and only time she ever hit me.  "DON'T make a scene!" she said and stared at me, waiting for a response. 

I gently took the hat off her head, smoothed the brim and put it back on her, straight.  "I won't," I said, offering the other cheek before I walked away.  Victoria's jaw was hanging only slightly open when I turned back to her and offered her my arm.  She took my arm as she had before, but everything was different from that instant forward.  Victoria leaned on me when she took my arm or stood next to me, oftentimes pressing on me in a way that was far warmer, sexier and meaningful than any flirtation the two of us had previously shared.

The rest of the evening was pretty normal.  We dined; we danced; none of the story's principals got drunk.  I even slow danced with Kitten, and it seemed as if the slap had never happened.  We all danced to Morris Day's "The Bird," during which my glasses flew off and got stomped.  Just normal formal dinner dance stuff...Except that Jimmy called me over for a beer and asked me if Kitten always got crazy like that.  I pointed out that she had never slapped me before, but she was generally pretty crazy.  "Oh," he said, "she's not like that with me."  I offered that she had probably just grown up a bit, and maybe he was less an asshole than I was.  His expression was inscrutable, but he had a nice hat.

Victoria was a hit, and Moose and the boys asked me the usual crude questions.  Thankfully, it was a first date so I could just reply that nothing had happened yet.  By around eleven or so, I could tell Victoria was ready to head home, so we left.

EVENTS AFTER:  The ride home was dicey; Victoria didn't have a driver's license, and I had broken my glasses.  But we made it.  Victoria had never been to this type of formal, and had really liked it.  And she asked what I had done to Kitten to make her smack me like that.  "It was always just crazy between us," was all I could offer.

"Man has to do something to a girl to get her to act like that," she said.

"Well, I really didn't do anything mean!" I said, fearful Victoria was distrustful of me since Kitten had been so crazy.

"That's not what I'm saying at all," she said.   And then changed the subject.

When I walked her to her door and tried for a good night kiss, she grabbed me by the tie and dragged me to her room.  The next two hours was as fine a time as I can recall on this planet, even if it was physically pretty demanding.  I actually tore some muscles in my stomach.  But it didn't start there on her doorstep.  It was the slap.  Maybe my levelheaded reaction to it...nah, it was the slap. 

AFTERMATH AND EPITAPH:  Victoria and I never made it as a couple.  We had a few more interludes, but to be honest, she was a bit out of my league and also very wrapped up in grad studies.  I pride myself on my relationship with her being the first time I just let go easily when I knew that was what a girl needed.  No tears, no drunken phone calls, no long letters.  I haven't seen her in sixteen years.

Kitten and Jimmy got married a year later.  There's another story or two there, but not for today.

It was a glorious night.  But whenever something triggers the memory, I always end up sitting down and pondering how it all started with that damned slap.  There's probably something more to it than Moose's twisted vernacular, "Boy, forget it, womens is crazy."  But I'll be damned if I know what it is.