So I'm out to dinner with the hubs (in a happier time when it was both safe and normal to go 'out' to dinner), looking forward to a casual evening on the lake. My needs are simple: enjoy a hot burger (that I did not have to cook myself) and some cold beer without being disturbed. Is this too much to ask? Apparently, sometimes it is.
We were at a local joint, outside on their lakeside deck. Unlike the dank restaurant proper, the deck was quite pleasant, perfect for watching sunsets and the boat traffic traveling thither and yon.
Although it was a weekend evening, the weather had been a little sketchy earlier in the day, so the place was less crowded than usual. The deck was not large, maybe the size of a two-car garage. There was a family group over at one side, but they appeared to be finished with their meal and were busy watching a pastoral vignette of ducks and turtles in the water below. Another foursome sat at one of the tables. That was it. We chose the nearest empty table, which happened to be adjacent to the foursome, and waited for our waitress.
My first clue that my wish for a peaceful evening was a little overly optimistic: when one of the foursome retired to the deck rail behind us for her cigarette break. The cigarette was no big deal. I mean, we were in South Carolina. Just about the last place in the country that is clinging to the Right To Bear Butts with both gnarled, tobacco-stained hands. But the friends Smoking Woman had left behind at the table across the deck were loath to leave her out of their conversation. So their convo continued, shouted across the deck so that Smoking Woman could still be included.
Okay, this was annoying but I could handle. Makes it way easier for me to eavesdrop! Plus, how long could it last? About the time it takes to smoke one ciggie, right? Plus plus, this group had high potential for My Personal Amusement. Let's just say although their table had been cleared, we didn't need their pile of Bud Light bottles to figure out they had been there for a while.
I honestly don't recall much of what they were saying. Part of me was trying to be considerate and block it out, like that one time I was in the grocery checkout line and the gal on the phone behind me was relating (in full voice, mind you) that she is freaking out because her boyfriend is demanding a paternity test and she knows he won't be happy with the results.
Ahem.
Back to the Bud Lite foursome. My initial Personal Amusement transformed into Pearl-Clutching Mortification as their shouted conversation ended when one of the non-smoking ladies yelled across the deck, 'yeah, cuz she SWALLOWS!'
As I mentioned, there weren't many of us out there at the time. Besides the foursome, it was just the two of us, and a LARGE FAMILY GROUP with half a dozen kids under the age of 10. Obviously someone at the foursome's table had forgotten they were using their Annoying Drunk-ass Outside Voice. Heads swiveled. Birds stopped chirping. I swear the massive, ancient air conditioner at the rear of the building even stopped roaring for a tick. I double-dog dare any of you out there to exercise the amount of self-control it took me not to turn and stare, mouth agape; not to mention, laugh out loud. My husband, bless his heart, chose this moment to excuse himself on the pretense of going to retrieve our sunglasses (we had left them on the boat since the skies were overcast). So foolish of us. Who knew I would soon need them to camouflage my facial expression and keep me from getting rousted by the locals for laughing at their drunken antics?
As that eternal few seconds of silence stretched on, someone in the foursome chastised the other three, reminding them about the little kids in the audience nearby, and so forth. Things calmed down. I thought I was home free. With any luck, they would be gone baby gone by the time the hubs returned with the sunglasses, and we could enjoy our dinner.
Smoking Woman returned to her seat. Someone at their table had the foresight to change the subject, whatever hot mess that conversation had been. So they began discussing what half of the civilized world had been talking about for weeks - a certain best-selling trilogy featuring sex, sex, and one other thing, I think it was . . . sex. Great. Just what I want to overhear from the already-blitzed-and-a-little-bit-ticked-off foursome.
For those of you who were behind the door when 50 Shades of Grey was handed out to every over 30 female south of the 30th parallel, this is an X-rated - okay maybe R17 - book about a rich guy who ensnares an innocent young college girl and volunteers to complete her sexual education with plenty of lube, handcuffs, and things that shall not be mentioned here in order to keep me from getting kicked out of the major search engines. Couple questions:
- I want to know which one of the brain trust at the Bud Light table thought this would be a palatable subject? Among the gal pals, sure. But out on a double date? Okay, maybe it was their kink?
- Do these guys look like they spend a lot of time reading?
- and for those guys who DO spend a lot of time reading, which of you reads soft porn masquerading as romance aimed at the middle-aged female demographic?
Sweet Mother of Pearl. Talk about out of the frying pan. We were close enough and they were loud enough, there was no sense pretending I didn't hear every word. There I sat, now clearly angled away from their table so that in case my self control slipped, I didn't want them to see my facial expression. Thank dog the hubs had returned with the sunglasses by now. Innocent lamb that he is, he kept asking me questions about what they were talking about. So I was trying to run a low volume commentary for him, but he could't hear me, so everything got whispered twice. Now THAT didn't appear a bit awkward. I dared not look over there. Might as well pull up a chair to their table and ask for clarification as the convo progressed.
It was obvious neither of the two men in the foursome had read the book. The women kept making this or that reference to this or that naughty bit. I think they thought if they kept it light and used plenty of euphemisms, the guys would have no clue. But there were no flies on those guys. They were on the scent. They knew something was up. They wanted details. The conversation went something like this. My thoughts in italics.
Man: So what's the big deal about this book? What's it about?
Dangerous question. Tread carefully here.
Woman: It's a story about a guy and a girl. It's a fantasy. If you haven't read it, you wouldn't understand.
Good answer. Way to sidestep the touchy subject of sexual fulfillment (or lack thereof).
Man: So if it's a fantasy, what's so interesting? I read technical manuals all day at work. If it isn't real, I'm not interested.
Woman: Sometimes it's nice to read about people whose life is different from yours.
Meaning, I sure wish you would read this book and pick up a few pointers.
Man: If you like it so much, how is it different from your actual life?
Oh, he is clever. Notice how he has circled back to his original question: what's it about?
Woman: It's WAY different. For one thing you would need a bigger . . . wallet.
Skate save! She almost blew it! Right now she is feeling pretty clever that she narrowly avoided the excruciatingly delicate topic of Size Matters.
Man: Oh - so it's all about the money. Well, let me tell you something: money isn't everything. Are you saying I don't make enough money?
Ruh-roh. Almost makes me wonder if the truthful answer about the 'wallet' might have been better. That might have had a bumpy start, but would have gotten them thinking about sex instead of money. At least there's a potentially mutually satisfying solution to that particular argument.
Woman: No! I said it's a fantasy.
Man: But you said you really liked it and you wished your life was like that.
Woman: Forget it. I'm going to the boat.
And . . . we're done. Off they went in a sulky huff. Thank dog - at least I could take off my sunglasses and not worry about making eye contact. They were wearing me out!
A part of me felt sorry for them. I mean, who hasn't had a wee bit much to drink and ruined what was turning out to be a pretty entertaining evening? But then I thought about what idiot brings up the topic of an awesome sex fantasy you couldn't put down to your partner/mate unless you think they are receptive to new ideas in the boudoir? Otherwise there's only one way that comes off: you're not cutting it in the bedroom, so I am finding satisfaction elsewhere. Granted, it's harmless satisfaction from a trashy beach read, but still - that has to sting a little bit. I hope they went home and had mad makeup sex. Either that, or Googled the nearest AA meeting.
As for me, the chili burger was great and the Yeungling was cold. If it's not about beer, burgers, ducks, or turtles, I don't want to talk about it without my sunglasses.
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