I Don't Know What I'd do if It Weren't for the Humping

By Roxy

Last night when Red Beard got home, I asked him, “Do you think Coffee is rushing us into buying in December?”

Red Beard said, “I don’t know… I’m curious to hear what she says is wrong with buying in January. I wonder if she means that there will be fewer places on the market, or that the prices will be higher.”

I told him, “I’m interested in Julie’s take, since she has a conflict of interest. She doesn’t want us to vacate her apartment, so I’m sure she would prefer we take our time buying. We should ask her tonight what she thinks.”

Red Beard laughed, “If Julie thinks I’m going to live here into my late 30s, she better readjust her expectations.”

We got ready to go out to dinner, and then drove in the rain to a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. There we met with Toughie, his new girlie (whom I’ve yet to nickname since I’ve met her maybe twice and I’ve never had a conversation with her) and Julie and Lanky.

After we ordered our steaks, Julie said to me, “So I hear you and Red Beard are meeting with Coffee on Saturday.”

I said to her, “Oh yeah, about that. I wanted to ask your opinion because Coffee says we should buy in November or December, and that we shouldn’t wait until January. What do you think?”

Julie said, “Don’t ask me; listen to Coffee. The girl knows her shit.” I will take the opportunity to add here that Julie has made herself into quite the little real estate investor. By listening to Coffee, Julie has made an absolute killing over the years, probably close to a half a million bucks.

The steaks were delicious and I ate myself silly. The dinner was a wedding present for Julie and Lanky. Since they’ve already been married a year, we laughed and wished them a happy anniversary. I turned to Red Beard and said, “So I guess this makes it our anniversary, too.” He closed his eyes and gave me a kiss. I felt so warm, so satisfied. I wanted to jump him at the table and make out. I refrained from such animalistic behavior. For the time being, anyway.

After dinner, we said good bye to everyone outside the restaurant. Toughie’s girl said to me, “See you next week!”

As we got into the car, I said to Red Beard, “What’s next week.”

Red Beard said, “Bozo’s wedding!”

I gritted my teeth. “Wait a minute. So Toughie has been dating this girl for five minutes and he gets to bring her? After we’ve been dating a year and we had to go through all that crap to get me invited???”

Red Beard was on the defense. “It was after you were invited, maybe a couple weeks ago. Toughie decided they were getting serious, and so he asked. Well, serious enough anyway.”

I seethed a little bit, “I don’t know why it should bother me that Toughie gets to bring the new girl, but I guess it’s because I feel a lot less honored for finally having been invited when he just started dating someone and she gets invited easy peasy.”

Red Beard began to bristle, “Do you remember the reason why you weren’t invited?”

I raised my voice, “No! PLEASE enlighten me! I would LOVE to know!”

He said, “Because there wasn’t enough room, and well, now there’s enough room. And after you got invited, Toughie felt it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

He hardly got the words out before I snapped, “Not enough ROOM – that’s the most insulting fucking excuse I have EVER heard! Look, I shouldn’t begrudge Toughie a date. Of course he should be allowed to bring whomever he wants. He’s the best man, for Christ’s sake. I am glad he can finally bring a date like a normal adult wedding guest. That’s great. I don’t know why this is bugging me, I really don’t. I’m sorry, and I should just drop it and…”

Red Beard cut me off and took the opportunity to, what felt like to me at the time, kick me while I was attempting to apologize, “YES YOU SHOULD DROP IT. It’s a waste of energy! And…”

I yelled over him, “And SO WE. WILL. NEVER. BRING. IT. UP. AGAIN.”

We rode the rest of the way home, probably about a half hour, in complete and total silence. I thought to myself what “not enough room” means to me. If there isn’t room for you, then stay home. I thought about how an invitation from these people shouldn’t matter to me – but also about how insensitive Bozo and Red Beard are when it comes to the “No Room for You” excuse. They don’t get that it holds no water as a respectful reason for excluding someone. Great – so it doesn’t mean that Bozo is purposely excluding me for the reason that he hates me. It means that he casually doesn’t give enough of a fuck to put me on the guest list. Well golly gee, how benevolent of him to not be malicious.

I pondered how touchy I’ve been lately – first with that whole poker thing, then tonight over Toughie’s getting a last-minute date to Bozo’s wedding. I tried to see if this was an emerging pattern with me, if I could identify any reason why I’m getting overemotional and snapping. Are these just isolated events, and I will go another five years before something pisses me off? Is it because this particular social circle prides itself on being nasty to each other, and I have yet to adjust to this lower standard of human interaction? Maybe. Probably. Most likely. As long as I was doing a pulse check, I wondered if my touchiness of late signaled any problems between Red Beard and me, but thankfully, my mental search turned up nothing.

Then I considered the fundamental difference between men and women. While men are typically insensitive to nuances when it comes to feelings, women are hypersensitive. I wished we were hybrid creatures: sensitive to others, yet never overreacting or taking things personally.

As I stared through the rain-spotted car window at the wet highway, I longed to be in New York, walking down and around First Avenue. That’s where I would stroll when I was having a hard time over something. It allowed me to calm myself, to breathe, sometimes on rare, desperate occasions, even to cry alone in front of strangers as I walked. It kept me from lashing out. It was my peace. I thought about the new area where we are looking to move, where there are plenty of hiking trails and sidewalks and I felt relief.

When Red Beard and I got inside the apartment, it was as if nothing had happened. I hopped on him in bed and jokingly humped his leg like a madwoman while he cowered under the covers and whimpered. I asked him, “So what’s with this alternate personality you have – this wimpy, pathetic whining thing you do when I attack you?”

Red Beard said, “Well, I would think that it would have you take pity on me and stop torturing me.”

I geared up for another round of mad humping as I giggled, “No! It only makes me want to hump you into oblivion!!!”

Red Beard told me, “You are so weird.”

Tell me something I don’t know. I promised him I would stop humping him, but said, “I need a hug.” I climbed on top of him and lay there, chest to chest, with my face nuzzled to his neck. He stroked my back, which soon turned into kneading my ass cheeks, which then led to his guiding my hips over his face which meant some super awesome oral sex, followed by my getting back on top for some sex-sex. Afterwards, I rolled off him as I said, “I’m sorry. I broke my promise not to hump you.”

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