Just the other day, I saw two men (literally) taking shots to woo a couple of ladies in a bar. Realizing it was futile, they decamped and moved to a bubbly group in the next table. A few hours and a little hammered later, they made headway. The hitch: Two men had ensnared only one girl. Now, this makes for some amusing entertainment. Two friends, pitted against each other, parading peacock feathers for a damsel who was obviously without distress. I watched bemused. And fascinated. The peacock dance. One displays his tail feathers and dark wings, and then the other flutters his rapidly. Side to side angles, backwards and forwards. She was the consummate peahen. Avoid one, and he unveils more tempting colors. Walk away, but just to the Ladies Room. Allow the cocks to figure out their predicament, or maybe ogle some more. She reappears, lovelier than ever. And then the dance starts again.
I wonder, when does the dance end? When does one man captivate First Prize and leave his friend with pride and manhood defeated? Do we take pleasure in playing the game or taking home the prize? And why I ask, when the peacock dance is over and the man takes home the prize, the lady suddenly feels defeated?
I took two shots and moved on to the next table. Another peacock dance, and this one had just begun.
*“The peahen may mate with the peacock, or she may simply walk away or stand still, whereupon the male starts over, turning his back again and resuming the rapid fluttering of his wings. The peacock can hold his fan of display feathers up for a very long time…For reasons that are not well understood, peahens tend to mate with peacocks with the most eye-spots.”