Posts Tagged ‘regrets’

Why Get Married?

February 22, 2008

Sticking with the subjects of sex and what motivates a couple to be a couple, I recall an incident from long ago when I had a part time job in a factory, as a student.  At break time, we were sitting at a table next to the production line when one of the guys sat down and said, “Well boys, the Mrs. gave me a blow job last night.”

I was stunned.  First of all, why would it even be worth mentioning?  Was his sex life with his own wife so bad that a blow job was a rare enough event to be noteworthy?  This was not an old guy.  He wasn’t in his sixties.  He looked about thirty or so.  I would have thought that he and his wife would still be able to enjoy a healthy sex life.  So much for the old argument that commitment gives you access to sex on a regular basis.  I didn’t really feel any added incentive to settle down.

Secondly, and I’m sure any female readers are thinking “more importantly”, what kind of way was that to talk about his wife?  What kind of guy would talk like that about his wife?  Presumably, he married her for a reason.  He decided to spend his life with her.  He married her.  That counts for something, doesn’t it?  Or does it?  Maybe it was just another of those “had to get married” marriages.  I knew that story well.

He gave me more to think about and stuck in my head.  Another example I didn’t want to turn out like.  I didn’t want to ‘have to’ do anything, least of all get married.  I didn’t want to regret or resent it, when the time came.  I didn’t want to talk about my wife like that.  And I certainly didn’t want to be married if it meant that getting a blow job was going to be one of the highlights of my year.  I wanted to do it because I wanted to do it.  I was in no great rush.

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The Nuts Are Out

January 10, 2008

As convenient as online banking is, there is still the odd occasion when you have to go to the actual bricks-and-mortar bank and deal with an actual person.  One such occasion occurred the other day.  I set out, cheque in pocket.

Walking along Broadway, I heard a car horn and shouting.  I looked up the street and saw a drunk, stoned, or maybe just crazy guy in the middle of the road, in front of a stationary pickup or SUV that was blocking the intersection.  As I approached, I got a better look at the guy in the road.  He was wearing an old light blue parka style coat.  As I passed them, I got a better look at him than I wanted.  The moon was out early that afternoon…  Beneath the coat, his pants were hanging below his ass.  Apparently, he doesn’t dress in layers for the winter.  A siren blasted and an unmarked police car appeared out of nowhere.  I guess that’s why they’re unmarked, no?

Continuing along Broadway, I heard another siren blast.  I turned to see two women getting out of the unmarked police car and another unmarked car pulling up from the opposite direction, followed by a police cruiser.  A pretty impressive display of force for a guy whose pants were falling down.  I felt safer already.

After doing a good deed at the bank that caused me to wait far longer than necessary and, therefore, to begin to regret my own niceness, I headed back the same way.  One of those square police vans for prisoners – a modern version of the old paddy wagon, I guess – had joined the other three vehicles.  The guy was surrounded by cops.  I thought they were searching or cuffing him but, as I passed, I saw they were trying to keep his pants up.  One of the women grinned good humouredly as she put some kind of belt on him and told him that should hold them up.  She must have thought, “This isn’t what I signed up for”, before the pants were up.  I wonder who drew the short straw.

And not a taser in sight.