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I met a very nice woman at Starbucks today who was kind enough to read this post, and then be the THIRD peson this week to already know what I learn below. If you read this ma'am, it was very nice to meet you, and thanks for critiquing my silly passion.
Last week some really wonderful neighbors had us over to gorge ourselves on their fabulous food, drink all their expensive champagne, wine, vodka and port, and allow our children to destroy their lovely home. Oh, and then stumble out the door without even offering to help clean anything.
They said that they wanted to come over to do a repeat at our own home, but we know better than to let hungry, angry, ungrateful strangers into our home. I mean, that's just dumb.
Now during the course of this fantastic evening, as we stood admiring the brand new fence at the back of their property, the conversation became...enlightening.
"Why did you decide to go with an 8foot fence on the back and not on the sides? is there something wrong with that neighbor?"
"We didn't get the 8foot fence, they did. And there's a LOT wrong with that neighbor."
"Why?"
"They swing."
I am only just hip enough to know that he didn't mean they have a very large playset back there. Or maybe they do, but not for the kids.
They further explained that our lovely suburban mecca has a high concentration of swinging couples, and that often the sounds of their...events...would waft over the fence for the kids to enjoy.
""All right ladies...change laps!""
Now, we have been residents of this neighborhood for five years, and have lived in this city for nine. And in all that time, this was our first ever exposure to this subject. And then not two days later, I hear someone else make a similar comment about our ferociously swinging suburb.
Where the hell have I been? And where the hell have you people been doing all this? And most importantly,
Why the hell have we not been invited??!!
Ok...I know there are some things that may have kept you away. I mow the lawn with no shirt on. I only leave the house after having shellacked my pasty, doughy, translucent form with factory SPF 50. I don't lift weights. My wife and I have a standing date to mow my back. I rarely bathe. Ok, that last one isn't true, but you get where I'm going here.
So I can see why you may not have wanted me... But every news story I have ever seen about swingers showed folks that, well, I don't really care too see...swing. And surely I bring more to the Mazola pit than some of those guys?!
Or not?
I would have thought that the fact that my wife is attractive might have had some guy making advances before asking his wife to approve ol' Halftime Jay?
Well, regardless...we're insulted. And we aren't interested. We aren't swingers, nor are we willing to learn. Each to their own, but not for us.
But would it have killed you to ask?
Jay Lessons is a novice ‘burb daddy, a husband-in-training, and a sarcastic elitist. You can find more of his reflective rants at HalftimeLessons.com.
