It always amazes me how much goes on in a conversation besides what’s actually being said. All words aside, we speak volumes with a seeming-endless combination of looks, gestures, expressions, shrugs, a tilted head, rolled eyes, to the point where the most banal exchange can in fact convey an entirely different meaning. Case in point, this recent interlude at a cocktail party:

Me: “Hey R! So good to see you! I saw you standing over here and figured I’d come say hello.”

Face and Body Translation: We’ve known each other a long time and we run in similar circles, and while you’ve made it clear in every one of our conversations that you’d rather be talking to just about any other living organism in the room, I still cling to the eternal hope that one day you’ll at least pretend to like me.

R: “Hi M! Good to see you, as always.”

F&B Translation: I would rather be talking to just about any other living organism in the room.

Me: “How’s everything going? You’re doing well? You look great!”

F&BT: Sensing early defeat, I’m hauling out the heavy artillery - personal compliments.

R: “Oh, you’re sweet. How’s, uh, how’s your current gig going?”

F&BT: I either have no idea and don’t care what you’re doing with your waking hours right now, or I’m doing my best to pretend I have no idea and don’t care.

“It’s great, thanks. Going really well.”

F&BT: Either you have no idea and don’t care what I’m doing with my waking hours right now, or you’re doing your best to pretend you have no idea and don’t care. Nonetheless, I’m soldiering on: “Where are you living now? Still in Manhattan?”

“Yeah, I’m over in Chelsea. And you?”

F&BT: Surely there must be someone more important than you at this party. And I intend to locate them immediately.

“Actually Boyfriend and I just moved to Brooklyn. I love it, it’s great - so much quieter, and we have a lot more space.”

F&BT: Wait a minute, what am I doing? Why am I trying so hard to impress you anyway? There’s no logic in it - it’s like some blind instinct the second I see you, this pathetic need for approval. Maybe you subconsciously remind me of the pretty girls in junior high.

“Brooklyn? How very ‘adult’ of you.”

F&BT: Ugh, and now you’ve become one of those boring saps who raves about Brooklyn. Yet another reason why I should be talking to just about anyone else here. Isn’t that F from the Times over there?

“Anyway, It was great seeing you.”

F&BT: Screw it - I hereby declare a moratorium on these exchanges. I’d rather be deep in conversation with the tuna tartare platter at the bar. Or a vodka tonic, for that matter.

“F! Over here! It’s me, R, we met last year! How are you? Oh, great seeing you M.”

F&BT: Well that was five minutes I’ll never get back. Though now I get to call up our mutual acquaintances tomorrow and gossip about you. Now on to more important tasks: Rampant ass kissing!