The Hilarity of Being Earnest

This is a story about the being young and in love, and about how those two elements, when combined with ample amounts of alcohol in a public setting, can lead to untold ridicule and mockery.

Very early last Saturday morning, Joel and I boarded a bus in London. We'd been out with some friends of Joel's in the city, and after waiting at a bus stop for more than an hour, were happy just to be somewhere warm without the company of drunk, snarling, humping 18-year olds, who seemed to be the target demographic at the club we'd just came from.

We stumbled to the back of the bus, and we must've been overly vocal about our lack of knowledge of London and where we were going, because the guy I sat next to made it obvious -- without saying as much in a bland, affected British way -- that Joel and I were morons.

Fortunately, two drunk 18-year old girls stumbled onto the bus at the next stop. One sat next to me, one across from me and near Joel.

So, imagine: three seats. One with a drunk girl, the middle with confused me, and the third with an irritated guy who thinks Joel and I are utterly stupid.

Let's call the drunk girl seated next to me BabySpice, and her good natured drunk friend seated across GingerSpice.

What was so amusing about the conversation that follows wasn't what they said but how they said it: Earnestly and without awareness that what they were saying was completely ridiculous.

Ah, to be 18 again!

BabySpice: How should I tell him how I feel?

GingerSpice: Are you going to call him? Do I have to take the phone away from you?

BabySpice: How do I say 'I love you' without saying 'I love you'? Do I just say 'I love you'? I can say, 'I love you in my own way'.

(At this point, Joel and I and the guy who thinks we're morons are half-listening. I wince at the last line. That sounds like he's her brother!)

GingerSpice: I don't see why you're going through this.

BabySpice: Should I call him? Write him a sonnet? A Shakespearian sonnet? Wordsworth? Keats? Should he understand Shakespeare?

GingerSpice: No.

BabySpice: Keats?

GingerSpice: No.

BabySpice: Let me evoke Nelly Furtado...

(At this point, Joel, the other guy, and myself are all fighting back laughter and are trying very hard not to let on that we're eves-dropping. The drunk girls don't notice.)

BabySpice: I believe D.H. Lawrence says that the first sex is like a budding flower. I swear, I was having orgasms on the spot.

GingerSpice: Seriously, give me the phone.

BabySpice: 'I love you because you're less intelligent than me!' No! 'I love you because I'm more intelligent than you!' Will that go over well?

(By now, Joel and the other guy are practically crying. I've taken out my BlackBerry and am transcribing the conversation and am still trying to pretend that I'm not listening.)

BabySpice: I love him even though he's impotent! 'I love you so much I'll take E with you.'

Right around this point, the two realized that they missed their stop and ran off the bus. We waited until they were five feet out of the bus before we burst out laughing.