*Subtitle: Shut up, I'm keeping the lame title.
So anyway, my Friday passed simply and quietly. I did more or less absolutely nothing all day Saturday, so let's just pretend I spent my time nursing the soft and swishies I'd damaged by watching The Chronicles of Riddick the night before.
Saturday night, Girlfriend went out to have a little screensaver with a few friends. A little girls night out sort of thing. I stayed home, and did so quite contentedly. Nearly every man I know gets their underwear in a twist at the thought of their lady getting dressed up and going out to get smashed without them. I don't get like that. I take an entirely different view.
There are a few simple reasons people go out for a night of drinking and dancing. One of them is to see the opposite sex. Another is to be seen by the opposite sex. Girlfriend's favorite reason for going out is the second: to have men look at her.
I suspect you might be getting the wrong impression about that. She's not "that" kind of woman. But be honest. You're just like her. No matter where you are, no matter what you're doing, seeing someone check you out is a huge ego boost. Everyone likes to know they are desired. Girlfriend is no different.
She goes out with her friends or her sisters and they drink and laugh and dance and maybe flirt a little bit. And then she comes back home. And if she received a few appreciative glances (which she always does), she comes home in… ummm… a really good mood. This is why it doesn't bother me in the slightest when she goes out without me. We have a great time going out together, as we often do, but she gets far less attention when she's on my arm than when she's alone.
Some men would spend the entire time their lady is gone worrying those foolish little things we all worry about far too much. Chiefly, "what is she doing without me around to keep an eye on her?" I used to worry things like this in the early days of our relationship, but not anymore. We've been together for years, and I trust her completely. Instead of worrying, I prefer to focus on making sure she wants to come home.
WARNING: If your blog nickname begins with "S" and ends with "ister," or if you in any other way happen to be my little sister, you should skip ahead a bit. Your therapist will thank you.
While she's gone, I'll do things like cleaning, or laundry. I know, this sounds weird, but trust me guys… this is foreplay. Forget about Spanish fly and oysters and the rest of that crap. A basket of folded towels is the most powerful aphrodisiac I have ever seen.
That night I spent the time she was away cleaning the living room while watching a History Channel DVD set on ancient Rome. (I know! My life is so much more fabulous than yours!)
So anyway, Girlfriend came home more than a little drunk, which of course makes her very uninhibited. A few guys tried to flirt with her, which of course makes her feel very desirable. And the living room was spotless, which of course makes her feel more turned on than any of the rest of it.
END OF WARNING: You can start reading again here, Sister.
So, umm… about 90 minutes later, we're laying about the living room when she tells me how hungry she is. I check the refrigerator and find it's well stocked with the usual fare. And by "usual fare" I mean "a vast array of condiments, beverages, and leftovers with mold on them."
She hints around about french fries, so I grab my shoes and wallet and make the grand trek to McDonald's. And by "made the grand trek" I mean "drove four blocks." Girlfriend got home around one o'clock, which means that it's now about 2:30. Bar closing time.
Dammit. The line at the drive through stretches all the way out of the parking lot and into the street. I'm pretty sure by the time I get to the speaker box, I'll be able to order from the breakfast menu.
A few minutes after I arrived, I saw a taxi in my rear view mirror. I watched as the cab pulled to the curb and saw a young man climb out of the back. The cab pulled away and the man crossed the street to stand in line behind my car. He was on foot, walking through the drive through at 2:30 in the morning.
I stared at the man for a few minutes as he stood there looking uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot with his hands in his pockets. After three or four minutes of him standing, and me quietly staring, a car got in line behind him.
The new car waited a few minutes and then slowly pulled up along side the man. A young woman was driving. She was smoking and had the window open. They talked for a moment, smiling at each other a bit.
The man walked around the front of her car and got in the passenger seat. Judging by their body language, they did not know each other. I deduced that she was being kind and offering to drive him through the drive through along with her.
I watched more in my rear view. I heard nothing, but I saw their faces. I watched their lips move. They chatted idly for about a minute when he reached out his hand. They shook hands while saying something short. Introductions. They were not acquainted before now.
They talked and I stared. I realized I recognized this young woman. I'd seen her at my favorite bar many times. In fact, I see her at my favorite bar nearly every time. She's always there, dancing suggestively, drinking too much, and generally looking like she's looking for a man.
There's certainly nothing wrong with looking for a man, but making it known that you're looking for a man just kind of makes you a target. A young woman with "that look" about her is all too often a target for cads, unscrupulous men who would take advantage of a lonely woman.
So I watched this woman in my rear view and I tried to imagine what her night was like. She looked very drunk, probably far too drunk to drive, but she seemed to be managing her little manual transmission compact well. Her eyes looked heavy-lidded. Was she tired? Sad? Just drunk? A little of all of them?
I watched silently. They talked and smiled and laughed. They grew serious for a moment. He leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back, very enthusiastically. Their kiss lasted nearly a minute. I idly wondered if she was sober enough to also focus on keeping the clutch and brake pedals depressed, or if she'd soon dart forward into my back bumper.
They separated. He looked aroused, focused now, encouraged at her reaction to him. She looked sad, depressed even. I watched them in the rear view and wondered about their thoughts. I imagine his were pretty simple. He looked completely focused on getting this woman into bed. She looked considerably more complex.
She looked like she would cry. She looked like so many thoughts were flying behind her eyes. I can't even begin to decipher them all. But it was easy to see she looked deeply unhappy. She collected herself. I watched as they continued to talk.
There were more smiling, more laughing. The sorrow never quite left her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her again. Again they parted. Again he looked encouraged. Again she looked like she would cry. Again she composed herself. Our cars crept forward a few feet at a time.
They talked. They smiled. They laughed. I watched. This time it was she who leaned in to kiss him. I could see their hands creep above the dash, touching shoulders, breasts, hair. When they parted, he looked the same as before. She no longer looked sad.
I then began to assume that what I interpreted as sadness was actually conflict. She was lost then, but not so much now. She had been wrestling with a question, and now she had her answer. Decision reached, she held her chin a little higher now. The man looked the same as he had since just before their first kiss. She looked more composed, more serene, than I'd yet seen her that night.
I finally reached the window. I paid for my fries and sandwiches and stole one last glance in the rear view. They were laughing as I drove away. I returned home.
Girlfriend and I ate on the couch, watched television, went to bed. Through it all, I thought of the lonely young woman. I wondered about her question. I wondered about her answer. I wondered how she ended her night. Regardless of what happened with the man in her car, I suspect she was alone.