Two Great Things that Go Great Together--Encounters with Swingers
My husband and I did the unthinkable the other night. That's right, suddenly-interested reader, we went out to see a concert. My husband asked if I wanted anything to drink, as he was heading to the bar. I ordered an amaretto sour, only because I like to ask men to ask for amaretto sours when there are no females around. It's funny!
Anyway, he came back, like, 20 minutes later! When I asked him what he was doing that took so long, he said, "It was crowded at the bar, and then some swingers were coming on to me." I believed the first part, but immediately dismissed the second part--his mouth is mealy with lies!--and took a sip of my simply delightful little girly drink.
A little while later, this little couple squeezes past us to get a closer look at the marquee performer. They were very European-mall like: He was maybe, maybe, 5'6' with some sort of stylin' button-down shirt, expensive jeans, and very dark hair that fell in perfect designer flaps around his Italianate face. She was gymnist short, with longish blond hair and very tight hiphuggers. All in all, they were a very cute little pair, though all those jokes about couples "needing a room" apparently never registered with them.
Perhaps at this point, I should inform you that my husband, nicknamed "Offered," is very cute, but with a decidedly low-key personal style that consists of whatever T-shirt is on the top of the pile, cargo shorts (but not the expensive frat-boy kind. No, these are the kind that are on sale at Target. I know because I have assumed the role of his mommy and buy them for him, lest he walk around in clothes that give the appearance of a person who has recently scuffled with a brown bear over a bag of Fritos. You know you're really not supposed to leave food where bears can get them, and you're definitely not supposed to allow food smells to linger too close to camp. In fact, failing to secure food properly in national (and even some state) parks will get you a ticket and even a fine), white athletic socks, tennis shoes, and a plaster-splattered John Deere hat. Also, he shaves all of his hair (his head hair) off every once in a while and however it grows in, well, that's his style. He also has a beard.
Anyway...he leans over and says, "Those are the swingers!"
"What?" I said, as it was very loud.
"That's the couple who came on to me at the bar."
"No way!" I said, exposing my keen intellect.
I asked him to elaborate, which I always have to do because he's such a guy. He told me that they were standing behind him in line, got his attention with some funny little comment about the line, and then asked, "Are you here with anyone?" When he said yeah, I'm here with my wife, they said, "Hey, we're married, too. We'd like to have some fun."
At this point in the recounting, my eyes and jaws are growing wider as I come to the bizarre realization that Offered is not bullcrapping me.
This next part is funnier if you know my husband and understand that Offered has the aura of a tall, thin, fuzzy child that's always up for a good time, preferably something involving nature and beer. So with his faux-dumb hick demeanor and smartass grin, he said, "Welllllll...whadja have in mind?"
They proceeded to tell him that they had wife-swappin' in mind, and hey, man, where's your wife? We'd like to meet her! (!!!)
After then telling me that he had, indeed, set a time and place to meet them, har har, he told me the truth--that he had respectfully turned down their kind offer. I asked him why, and he said, laughingly, that he knew that there was no chance in all creation that I would've agreed to do it, so to speak. Well, dear reader, this brings up the inevitable and potentially marriage-endangering question of "Hey! Would you have actually done it? Do you want to swing?"
Pause here, reader, and think about your answer to that question.
His reply went far beyond the Appease Spouse reply: Oh No, Honey, You're All I Need. It even went beyond the consideration of Dread Diseases: And Wear a Condom Again??
Instead, Offered went straight for the jugular, replying in a wise, world-weary tone, "Nah...You don't want to get mixed up with swinger types."
Count me lucky, reader--my husband is the sturdy shepherd to my little naive, don't-know-much-about-anything bleating lamb.
Anyway, he came back, like, 20 minutes later! When I asked him what he was doing that took so long, he said, "It was crowded at the bar, and then some swingers were coming on to me." I believed the first part, but immediately dismissed the second part--his mouth is mealy with lies!--and took a sip of my simply delightful little girly drink.
A little while later, this little couple squeezes past us to get a closer look at the marquee performer. They were very European-mall like: He was maybe, maybe, 5'6' with some sort of stylin' button-down shirt, expensive jeans, and very dark hair that fell in perfect designer flaps around his Italianate face. She was gymnist short, with longish blond hair and very tight hiphuggers. All in all, they were a very cute little pair, though all those jokes about couples "needing a room" apparently never registered with them.
Perhaps at this point, I should inform you that my husband, nicknamed "Offered," is very cute, but with a decidedly low-key personal style that consists of whatever T-shirt is on the top of the pile, cargo shorts (but not the expensive frat-boy kind. No, these are the kind that are on sale at Target. I know because I have assumed the role of his mommy and buy them for him, lest he walk around in clothes that give the appearance of a person who has recently scuffled with a brown bear over a bag of Fritos. You know you're really not supposed to leave food where bears can get them, and you're definitely not supposed to allow food smells to linger too close to camp. In fact, failing to secure food properly in national (and even some state) parks will get you a ticket and even a fine), white athletic socks, tennis shoes, and a plaster-splattered John Deere hat. Also, he shaves all of his hair (his head hair) off every once in a while and however it grows in, well, that's his style. He also has a beard.
Anyway...he leans over and says, "Those are the swingers!"
"What?" I said, as it was very loud.
"That's the couple who came on to me at the bar."
"No way!" I said, exposing my keen intellect.
I asked him to elaborate, which I always have to do because he's such a guy. He told me that they were standing behind him in line, got his attention with some funny little comment about the line, and then asked, "Are you here with anyone?" When he said yeah, I'm here with my wife, they said, "Hey, we're married, too. We'd like to have some fun."
At this point in the recounting, my eyes and jaws are growing wider as I come to the bizarre realization that Offered is not bullcrapping me.
This next part is funnier if you know my husband and understand that Offered has the aura of a tall, thin, fuzzy child that's always up for a good time, preferably something involving nature and beer. So with his faux-dumb hick demeanor and smartass grin, he said, "Welllllll...whadja have in mind?"
They proceeded to tell him that they had wife-swappin' in mind, and hey, man, where's your wife? We'd like to meet her! (!!!)
After then telling me that he had, indeed, set a time and place to meet them, har har, he told me the truth--that he had respectfully turned down their kind offer. I asked him why, and he said, laughingly, that he knew that there was no chance in all creation that I would've agreed to do it, so to speak. Well, dear reader, this brings up the inevitable and potentially marriage-endangering question of "Hey! Would you have actually done it? Do you want to swing?"
Pause here, reader, and think about your answer to that question.
His reply went far beyond the Appease Spouse reply: Oh No, Honey, You're All I Need. It even went beyond the consideration of Dread Diseases: And Wear a Condom Again??
Instead, Offered went straight for the jugular, replying in a wise, world-weary tone, "Nah...You don't want to get mixed up with swinger types."
Count me lucky, reader--my husband is the sturdy shepherd to my little naive, don't-know-much-about-anything bleating lamb.
posted by lulu | 9:58 AM
1 Comments:
Swing away baby!! Though I've never participated in such sinful and immoral activities, it has always been an interesting topic. I often wonder what makes people decide to start "wife-swapping" (as that guy so eloquently put it). At what point is it considered cheating?
Anyway, I guess this explains, finally, why gay people are not allowed to get married. It would mean that the Republican swingers out there would be forced to swap their wives with big, burly men who want to cuddle. AND THAT CANNOT HAPPEN!!!!
Spec
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