Here's a Poll For Ya
I've wanted to write about this since last week, but I had to wait to get permission from the guy who shared the story with me. He was fine with it, as long as I wasn't naming any names. So I'm going to take some liberty with the details, something I NEVER do, of course, but know that the simple narrative line here is true, even if the setting, props, and costumes have been changed to protect the guilty.
All right, Guy went to Scranton--make that Newark--to visit some old friends. His very sweet wife couldn't go because she had volunteered to work at the Sisters of Mercy homeless shelter all weekend, but she blessed the trip. He and these friends were going to to hear John Fogerty, Wes Borland, and Sammy Hagar at an outdoor concert. They were drinking a little beer, needless to say, and by the time he dragged himself away from the music to hit the port-a-potty, that little bit felt like a keg sitting in his bladder.
As luck would have it, the lines for the johns were as long as Rainbow's guitar solo at the Viper Room. Everyone was suffering. After several minutes of wiggling and wishing, he noticed that folks were going in as couples, males and females together, like Noah's Ark. And many of the couples didn't seem to know each other at all. See, because each unit had both a urinal and a toilet, it was simply a matter of convenience to pair up, as they saw it. Necessity even.
So, this gal behind him, a blond in cut-off jeans and a halter top...no, a redhead wearing a yellow sundress...rather, a brunette in skinny jeans and a white linen shirt...(Does it matter?) asked him if he'd mind if she went in with him. She really needed to "go" and he'd sure be helping her out. She made him promise he wouldn't look, blah, blah, blah.
He consented to the plan.
Later that night, when he called his wife, he told her all about it, assuming she'd think it was as funny as he did.
He was wrong about that.
As Guy related all of this to me last week, I found myself stunned by his stupidity and said as much. I figured the only reason he went along with Toilet Girl was he'd had too much to drink. But when I offered that up, he confessed that he hadn't been drunk at all--that had his wife not shown him the error of his ways, he'd have done it again under similar circumstances. He truly didn't think there was anything wrong with being crammed ass-naked in a three-foot space with a woman not his spouse.
Well, I saved the story from Wednesday until Friday night, when Biggy and I went out for pizza. I knew it would be good for at least ten minutes of conversation, even if all Biggy did was feign shock and pretend to agree with me. My husband, however, wasn't even smart enough to do that. The only thing we agreed on was that Guy shouldn't have mentioned it to his wife, and our reasons for that were different. To my mind, Guy should have recognized his mistake, considered it a no harm/no foul, and resolved to use better judgment in all things forevermore. Then he should have bought her a tennis bracelet and taken the secret to his grave.
Biggy believes rubbing asses with a stranger in a closet in order to move the line is no biggy. He also believes there's no reason to bother your wife about it.
Won't you all weigh in?