"The Spiderman Stunt: A Tale of Drunken Flair and Epic Fails"

Alright, so here's the story of how I bloody managed to absolutely, completely, and utterly *destroy* my social dignity at my best mate's house party. Now remember, people, you just asked me to share a story like I'm doing right now, so sit back, relax, put on your favorite Sheppard's pie and make sure you aren't drinking anything, because I can't be held responsible for any spit-both-laughing instances from here on out.

So here we are, right smack dab in the middle of the most brazen house party my best mate could ever throw. The bloody house was filled to the brim with people, music was blasting, drinks were flowing like there was no tomorrow and, as parties always do, things were starting to get a bit wild. Now, me being me, never one to shy away from a bit of a laugh, decided to end my quiet evening of cocktails and chit-chats and instead, with the help of good ol' Mr. Jack Daniels, decided to scale up to the roof of the house. Yeah, not my brightest idea.

As I'm making my way up the drainpipe, doing my best impression of bloody Spiderman in drunk mode, I promptly note that I maybe, *just maybe*, might have overestimated both my climbing capabilities and my current state of balance. But did I care at that point? Not a single bit, mate. Because there's this unwritten rule: the more you embarrass yourself at a party, the more legendary you become, right?

So there I am, perched on the roof like some kind of gargoyle, waving to the cheering crowd below, feeling pretty darn invincible, and then… *then*, my friends, is when SHE walked in. Now, remember how I mentioned the whole "destroying my social dignity" thing earlier? Yeah, that's about to kick in. Because SHE is my long-time crush, the girl who makes my heart skip a beat, trip over itself and get bruised on the rough pavement of unrequited love.

Jubilantly, and with probably *way* too much enthusiasm, I decided to greet her. I stood up, tottered precariously on the roofing tiles, and waved, shouting out her name in glee (and a touch of slurred speech). Well, what can I say, gravity can be a real *b* sometimes, because the next thing I knew, I was sliding down the steep rooftop, heading for a one-way trip to Pain Street.

In what felt like slow motion I hit the ground, and then, to top it off, rolled headfirst into a conveniently placed bush in the front yard. Thankfully, I didn't break anything, except maybe my dignity and a few branches. With a face now full of leaves and my pride much the same, I heard laughter break out from the crowd, and then the girl, my crush, come out to check on me.

With her hand extended and the sweetest, most amused smile on her face, she helped me up. "Nice entrance," she said, before giving me a quick peck on the cheek. Now, staying true to the rules of drunken stupidity, instead of basking in that semi-victorious moment, I promptly fell back into the bush. Let's just say there was a lot more laughter, a lot more blushing, and a hearty "Goodnight, Spiderman!" from her as she left me there, tangled up in the shrub.

Hence, the moral of the story, friends? Save your climbing antics for when you're sober. And as for me? I've got a fantastic icebreaker for when I finally work up the courage to ask her out on a sober date.