If you and I were out to dinner together, and I repeatedly kicked you under the table with my clunky hard wedges, what would you think I was doing?
A. Dealing with an uncontrollable spasm in my leg.
B. Dancing to the beat of the saxophone player sounding out his rendition of “Una Lunga Storia d’Amore”.
C. Frantically trying to get your attention so that you stop your idiotic, embarrassing behavior.
D. Engaging in the foreplay that will lead up to our BDSM session later that evening.
If you were my husband the other night, you would think A or B. If this scene were in an erotic novel, you would think D.
But if you were living in my reality, the correct answer would be C. And only C.
The evening had been going along beautifully. We went out for a celebratory birthday dinner with our Thursday night crowd, the same group of people we’ve been going out with for the last five plus years. After a fun raucous meal, we walked down the street to a restaurant to hear some live music.
The restaurant was empty except for one large group of people. A guy was playing the piano and an older man and woman were dancing like two people who can’t wait to get home and get it on. After taking Viagra. The woman was wearing a white pantsuit and unfortunately, you could see that she was wearing some sort of adult diaper. But that didn’t stop her from lifting her legs high up in the air. They were having fun but overall, it was an older, conservative looking crowd.
Then the piano player took out his saxophone and someone at my table requested the song mentioned in answer B above.
And even though I’ve tried to block out all memory of what happened next, I haven’t been able to. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.
As the saxophonist was leaning in to our table while he was playing, trying to make the birthday girl feel special, my husband decided to take two of his fingers and flick his tongue back and forth through them. You know, to simulate cunnilingus. I’m not sure why. Alcohol? Stupidity? Momentary lapse of sanity? Who knows but he wouldn’t stop. He even started flicking his tongue to the rhythm of the song that was being played, pretending he was jamming with the saxophone. A non-erotic duet.
And that was when I started kicking him. Kicking him and shooting him the evil eye. My face was getting red and I could see the looks on my girlfriends’ faces. Looks of solidarity and also of relief that it wasn’t their husband making a total and complete immature ass out of himself. Unfortunately, directly across the table sat his equally immature friend who was egging him on, chanting, “Yes, yes, yes.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t a long song.
I’ve learned over the years of marriage that in the direct aftermath of a situation like this, it’s best not to say anything. To save it for later. We had had a few drinks, and it was a long ride home, so I kept quiet and went to bed shortly after we walked in the door. Obviously there was no sex, oral or otherwise.
The next morning, we went on our power walk. And started talking about the evening. And I asked him if he knew why I was kicking him under the table with all of my might. He just looked at me blankly. Huh? For a man who is so smart, he can be so dense sometimes. And when I told him I was kicking him because he was acting like an idiotic frat boy pretending to lick a girl’s vagina, he just laughed. And laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard he almost fell off of the sidewalk.
Which of course made me laugh. I guess I’m just as much of a frat boy as he is. But I made him promise to never do anything like that again. In public. And then I told him that maybe I wouldn’t have been so pissed if he actually did that to me a little more frequently. In private.
And that’s how my frown got turned upside down.