Guys, I moved to the burbs and got hit on by a swinger.

Let me rewind. ‘Twas Friday afternoon and these two old folk (that’d be me and the man I call husband) got it in their pretty little heads to late afternoon drink because why not. We headed over to a favorite cocktail joint in D.C and sat at the bar. To paint the full picture, we were also a smalls bit stoned and husband thought he had discovered the secret to life (he may have). Amidst this deep AF conversation, an old/middle-age fella took the empty bar seat next to me. He shook hands with the bartender who addressed him by name (let’s call him Larry). He then took out a sketchbook and began some architectural sketching as he and the bartender chatted (husband immediately called this detail out). 

If you know me, you know I’m a nosy/chatty mofo who will talk to strangers and shout out “love your jeans” (or the like) to people on the street/subway. I got this trait from my father and it was something I liked about him so I’m sticking with that POV.

Somehow, Larry and I start to chat (translation: I started a convo with Larry); husband is also part of the discussion. Larry had a lot to say, but first he paused our conversation to ask if husband and I were married (we are). I found that odd, but more socially awkward than anything else. We went on to learn that his son graduated from a rival high school to our kids’; we live near one another; he, like, I, grew up in NYC. The conversation was easy. 

The three of us talked about getting together with his wife and exchanged information. As soon as we left, husband looked at me and said “I have a theory.” In case you were wondering, this is when it clicked for this old lass that perhaps there was something else going on. We’re at the swinger-noticing part, guys. 

Some of the signs I may have missed/misinterpreted:

1. After Larry asked if the Mr. and I were married, Larry may have, how do I put this, touched my hand and shoulder a few times? My take: My husband was right there, who cares? Husband’s take: “He was establishing that I was aces with him hitting on you .”
2. Larry – mid convo – stood up from his stool and asked if we were okay if he took his blazer/jacket off (uh, we’re at a bar, you may absolutely remove your jacket my man). Underneath the jacket was…a tight black muscle-showing t-shirt. My take: Immediately no. But also, so? Husband’s take: He was showing us that he might be 60, but he fit, at least in his own mind.
3. Husband went to the bathroom. Larry proceeded to show me several pictures of his wife. My take: Huh? But okay? She looks nice? Husband’s take: He’s showing you who I’m supposed to fuck. Or maybe watch as you fuck. 
4. Larry invites us over to his house (at a TBD date) saying it would be “fun.” My take: We made friends! Husband’s take: Confirmation that we are agreeing to have the sexual relations because who goes to someone’s house as a first plan? (To be fair to me, I thought the invite over was a bit much. but hey, maybe that’s how they roll in the burbs, what do I know?)
5. Larry sends both husband and me follow up text with his address and a picture of him and his wife. My take: Um….. Husband’s take: Told you. 
6. FaceTime a bestie in NYC to relay story/get her POV with husband filling in essential details. Bestie 100% on husband’s side and says the word “run” while laughing her ass off.

Upside: Husband and I have a blast at dinner – at my naïve ass’s expense –  going over each and every signal I missed. We decide that maybe we are not in fact friends with Larry. 

Fin. 

Part 2: A look back.

So….this is not the first time your pal here has missed some cues. I’m flashing back to a particular night in Sarasota, FL, circa 2015. I had arrived in FL with my two children who were staying with my in-laws in their RV. Husband and I were staying in an airbnb by the beach (was it an amazing arrangement? Yes, yes it was). Anyway, on this particular trip, husband was meeting up with us a day or two later due to this annoyance called “work.” 

I had an early dinner with the kids/in-laws near our airbnb. Since it’s only 7 pm, I decide to have myself a drink at a restaurant bar before going home. I walk in, and there’s one seat left at the bar.  Fantastic. To my left is an older man (70+) and his wife. They initiate chit-chat about my drink when I order it because apparently they too like a dirty martini (Note: No longer drink dirty martinis). 

The wife leaves after about 5 minutes to “go bring the car around.” I’m there with the oldster and my book which I begin to read. Unfortunately, the old guy was having none of that. He proceeds to ask me where I’m from and such. After a few minutes, here’s what he knows about me: I’m married with two young children. I’m visiting my in-laws. Here’s what I know about him: He’s old, somewhat ruddy (like an alcoholic) and likes to chat – more at people than with people, but hey, he’s male. I also learn that he has grown kids and is a big Penn State fan. I can also tell that he likes to consume the alcohol. 

Without asking, he orders me another dirty martini. Say what? I tell him thank you but I’m not going to drink it and tell the bartender I’m set. He insists on ordering it anyway. I ask him (in a nice way) what the fuck is taking his wife so long. He says something along the lines of “we come here all the time, she probably bumped into someone she knows.” 

While we are talking, he’s also benignly flirting with the bartender (who is in her 20s. Or maybe 30s because let’s be real, everyone looks young now). To me, this signals that he’s just an old drunk flirty geezer. ALSO, HIS WIFE IS ON THE WAY BACK. Not that I’m feeling defensive.

Finally – finally! – he gets a text that his wife is outside. He pays his bill. He asks if he can have a kiss goodnight. I tell him no, but he can have a handshake. He says “how about a quick kiss on the cheek?” I look at his ruddy nose, doughy lips and somehow the word “fine” comes out of my mouth. (Yeah, I know. I KNOW). I aggressively present him my cheek. Somehow – SOMEHOW – this mossback pulls a fast one and plants a very wet doughy-lipped kiss on my mouth. 

GIRL. 

My first thought – after the knee-jerk aggressive wiping off of my mouth and uttering the word “EW” as he darted out spry as fuck – was….I haven’t been kissed by someone new in over a decade and it’s gonna be this homie? With pulpous old-ass lips and drinking scars? 

My second thought was “what in the fuck just happened. And how and why and how again.” Bartender nods in my direction and says something like “he’s harmless.” EXCEPT HIS LIPS WERE ON MY LIPS.

Upside: None. 

And reader, I leave you with that. Maybe this savvy, street smart GenX-er isn’t quite as sharp as she thinks, but eff that! I got picked up by a swinger. And an octogenarian.