Beware the Dimples

Going on about a hundred years ago now, I declared that I would be posting about the worst things men have ever said to me.

And by “worst” I mean “utterly, incomprehensibly male.”

The first one, for those of you who might not recall (seeing as it was roughly a century ago), was the “ah you a gay?” comment.

The second one – in no particular order – was this little episode, brought on while in the company of PinkJaime.

* * * *

Once upon a time, PJ and I decided to go out after work for one drink.

And by “one drink” I mean “accidentally staying from happy hour until the bar closed.”

Anyway, PJ and I were happily sipping our gin and sodas, people watching, casually chatting with the mostly regular staff, and having a lovely time.

Eventually one young man came over to our table. The bar was very small, and he had just sort of wandered in. He started off by talking to a few of the regular guys, but eventually ran out of conversation with them and decided to stop off at our table.

He was on the shorter side, cute and pink-cheeked with a great smile and to-die-for dimples. I thought it was remarkable that he had the chutzpah to just come up to us at our table and start talking, but he seemed completely comfortable about it.

On the other hand, PJ and I had already noted that he was wearing a wedding ring. Maybe it’s easier to talk to girls when you aren’t hitting on them, I thought.

Turns out that Mr. Cutiepie was as sweet and adorable as he looked. He talked about his wife adoringly. He talked to us about his marriage, and how he’s been with her for many years and it’s as great as it ever was. They travel together all the time. And, we learned, they have a baby (their first!) on the way.

At the time, both PJ and I thought this was the sweetest thing we had ever heard but obviously gin was involved. I say this because it did not occur to either of us to be concerned about the fact that the man who claimed to love his pregnant wife SO much was not, actually, WITH his pregnant wife...and was instead at a bar talking to two strange women while his wife was at home “giving him space.”

Right.

[Oh, but before you go and think THAT was an eye-roll-worthy turn of phrase, just you wait!]

After a few more drinks and more chatting, we seemed to be getting along famously. If we ever suggested that perhaps it was odd that he was at a bar with his wife at home, he was more than adept at convincing us it was perfectly normal and healthy and part of what makes their marriage work so well.

Of course. Totally made sense at the time.

As the evening played out, the downstairs part of the bar got very crowded. We decided, then, to go upstairs where there was a lot more space and fresh air. And where it was quieter.

Perfect, it turns out, for having serious conversations. Even if you didn’t know one was coming.

“Ladies,” Mr. Cutiepie said. “I have something I want to say.” He suddenly looked very, very concerned. “I’m not sure how to say this, actually...”

What was going on? What was the matter? Was there some great truth he was going to share with us? What sort of confession might we be the recipients of?

We encouraged him. “What? What is it? Please, go on. You can tell us.”

“Well, it’s really more of a question,” he confessed.

“You can ask us,” we said, or something like it. Because the truth was, we HAD been discussing a lot of things. And a few hours and a few drinks certainly made us feel like we were all old friends.

“My God, my heart is pounding,” he said. “Feel.” He put my hand over his heart and, sure enough, it was pounding. He felt very warm.

PJ started to look very skeptical, and rightly so. But I purposely did not. I wanted him to feel comfortable enough to say or ask whateverthehell he felt was such a big deal, mostly because I was dying of curiosity and I didn’t want him to lose his nerve.

After a little more coaxing, he gave in.

“I think...” he started.

And then he just said it all at once.

“I think that all three of us should go out to the parking lot and have sex in my car.”

Pause.

Pause.

I think that all three of us should go out to the parking lot and have sex in my car.

PinkJaime laughed abruptly. It was one of those “HA!”s that come out in a sudden burst, when something is at once funny and shocking.

Then, when she declined immediately, he actually had to ask why not.

Yes. He asked why not.

So she explained that, among other things (such as SEX in a CAR in the PARKING LOT) being inappropriate, also HE IS MARRIED and his WIFE IS AT HOME EXPECTING THEIR CHILD.

But rather than have him say, “Oh right, THAT,” he launched into some very elaborate explanation of how they “sort of” have an “open relationship” and really his wife is fine with it and that’s why it’s okay for him to be out at the bar in the first place.

But PinkJaime just flatly refused him, before I even had a chance to say no.

Once I DID say no, though – and you have to appreciate this – he looked at me and said, in earnest, “It would be okay if it’s just the two of us.”

OH REALLY? IT WOULD? HOORAY!!!

You know, on the one hand, I almost admire the guy for putting it out there. Almost. It’s just that on the other hand, SEX in a CAR in the PARKING LOT with MY FRIEND while HIS WIFE IS AT HOME EXPECTING THEIR BABY.

Really now.