A fellow from the big city decided to get away from it all and move to the Canadian north. He purchased a log cabin, and his nearest neighbour was four miles away down a winding road. George never got to see anyone other than the mail delivery person, and on occasion he traded words with the truck that brought his store-bought food. After eleven months of relative isolation, George began to get a little antsy. As fortune would have it, a loud banging at the door abruptly took him from his despondent thoughts. He answered the knocking. There before him at the door stood a somewhat rank, dishevelled, rugged-looking, semi-drunk huge man.

"Yes?"
"Came to ask you to a party tonight; starts at 7:00."
"Oh." (George was lonely, and he figured, why not.)
"Yeah. But there might be a little drinkin', hope ya don't mind that."
"Oh, no, I have a drink now and then, too."
"Yeah. Might be a little fightin'. Hope ya don't mind that."
"Oh, no, I'll just keep to myself."
"Might be a little sex. Hope ya don't mind that."
"Oh, no," said George, "It's been quite some time for me."
The fellow turned around and began to walk away. George called after him: "Hey, what should I wear?" Fellow yelled back, "Suit yourself; there'll just be the two of us."