Demonstrating on this 4th of July that individuality and marriage can (and should) go together.
I’m wondering if I’m the only married guy who hears this kind of stuff from people:
What if your wife finds out about this?
Don’t worry. She already knows about it. In fact, she’s the one who introduced me to it. Think I’m lying? Just ask her. (But I have to warn you. She swears a lot, even in front of the kids. It’s a habit. She learned how to speak English from listening to Slovenian jazz players, most of whom learned their English from their teacher, this drummer from Detroit.)
Have your fun now because your wife’s coming home soon!
Have my fun now? Sorry, but I don’t want to have sex with anybody on this city bus. I certainly don’t want to shag the bus itself. Perhaps someone does, but I’m not that advanced a pervert.
Just so you’d know, I’m on my way back from the Architectural Society where I picked up a variety of phallic props for the Satyr play (invite only, private event, sorry) I’ll be staging once my wife returns. It’s going to be in my back yard, between the peach and cherry tree.
Yes, I have a peach and cherry tree. Planted them myself. In midsummer, I just go out and pick the lovely, warm spheres. Especially the peach tree yields amazing fruits.
Don’t you need to call your wife?
Thanks for your concern. I know I’ve been out all afternoon and haven’t flashed my phone in a few hours. Gimme a sec. I’ll just dial her here.
Hi, baby? Yeah, I know you’ve got rehearsal until ten. Sorry for calling! But these people are really worried, so I just wanted to let you know I’m hanging out with them. I haven’t seen them since a trip to LA in 1995. Just stumbled on them, out of the blue, and right here in Chicago. Yeah *giggle* *snort* amazing!
One of them used to be a Huntington Beach lifeguard. Just like in Baywatch, exactly the same. But she got a chemistry degree and designs perfume now. Wish you could smell her. You know how Macy’s smells when you go inside? That’s how she smells right now, like alcohol mixed with flowers and grapefruit zest.
The second one sells shoes. Haven’t seen her since a camping trip to Big Bear, California. She looked like Aphrodite then (if Aphrodite wore jeans and a Pepperdine sweatshirt). She really hasn’t changed all that much. I’m currently out in public with her, talking and laughing.
Then there’s this guy: we all knew he was gay when we were teens. He came out a while ago. Announced it on Facebook.
Anyway, we’re going to leave this tea house and go up to a hookah bar. You should know, for the next few hours I’ll be hanging around with two California girls and a gay guy, and we’re going to be smoking fruity tobacco from a hookah—
No, I’ll be home at the usual time. Yeah…of course, I’ll remember to bring kebabs. When have I forgotten to bring your damn kebabs?
Your wife lets you do that?
Here’s the situation. After I’m done with my Satyr play, I’m going to start packing for my trip. This summer, I’m going to attend a seminar in Lithuania, and will stop over in Amsterdam for a few days to visit some friends. I’m going alone while my wife takes the kids to see family in Kiev.
My wife wishes she could join me, and I wish she and I could go together. We want a two-week vacation, but it probably won’t work out until our kids are old enough to go to summer camp. We both love Vilnius and the Netherlands, and we have very good friends in both cities. Our honeymoon was in Amsterdam, so we have fond memories, some of them rather wild.
If you’re worried about the hookers and the grass and the smart shops, yeah: yowza! But prostitutes and grass and hallucinogenic drugs are available virtually anywhere, even in your posh upper-middle class American suburb (where every fourth resident has an Adult Friend Finder account). I’ve spoken to prostitutes in Warsaw hotel bars and in rest areas along I-57. I’ve observed drug culture in every country I’ve ever visited. As a community college instructor, I can tell you that teens from your top-rated high school have access to everything from grass and salvia to ecstasy and meth.
My point? If I wanted to hire prostitutes and trip balls, I would not need a plane ticket to the Netherlands. And if I wanted to hide behavior from my wife, I would not tell her I’m going to Amsterdam where I’ll be staying with a friend. Prepare for the shock: my friend, Monika, is a single woman. She’s naturally blonde, and she has an amazing collection of hot boots. She also has several roommates, all of them young women with careers (and romantic interests that do not include me). I’m sure Monika has activities lined up for us, perhaps dinner in some cool place or a visit to an artist’s house. Maybe a party on a houseboat. Something like that.
If you were my husband, I’d kill you for even thinking of this stuff.
Please don’t be angry. I’ve done you no harm. Besides, we’re not married.
Actually…why are you imagining that? It’s kinda weird.
Photo by Andrew Turner