A Night in the Life of an Art-loving, Claustrophobic Nymphomaniac
There were only a few people in the art gallery when I first entered. I was able to peruse the paintings in peace, with no one brushing against me or breathing on me. I moved slowly down the corridor, crossing the aisle when anyone came too close. But gradually, more and more people entered the room, sucking up the oxygen, raising the temperature, and talking, talking, talking incessantly. I felt the nerves along my spine start to quiver. I tried to rein in my rising discomfort, but as more and more bodies pressed in around me, I began to feel breathless and anxious. It would be only a matter of time before someone actually would touch me and I knew I would lose control if that happened. I tried to breathe deeply and relax, but it felt like there was no air left in the room. I had to get out, but how? I was surrounded by people. There was no clear path to the exit. I looked around frantically, trying to find an opening between any two bodies that I could slip through, without touching anyone, hoping desperately that one clear path would lead to another and I could carefully zig-zag my way to the door. It was getting hotter by the minute and I was sweating and shaking.
Just then, I realized that I was standing right next to a man who looked just like Johnny Depp, but with a great build. He was wearing tight pants and an Italian-style shirt, open at the collar. In a flash of inspiration, I realized that pressing against him wouldn't be intimidating at all. In fact, it seemed like a really good idea. I caught his eye and brushed against him, saying, "Excuse me, Mr. Depp." He said, "No problemo, signorina," and embraced me. I swooned in his arms. The crowd parted, as he carried me outside, into the cool, moonlit night.