Category Archives: embarrassing moments

When Your Wingman Fails You…

Posted on by

5

Last night, I saw a wingman formation that was like an air show gone bad…

All lined up. Target in sight. But, instead of a successful manoeuvre, I watched the wing catch on fire and the pilot almost crash and burn.

Okay. Enough of sounding like I just watched Top Gun.

Four guys walk into the bar. They were:

Single Guy (aka the Pilot)

Married Guy

Married GO Train Guy*

and

The Party Starter.

Our boys looked like they had just finished work in the financial district; their ties weren’t even undone. Over by me were two girlfriends out for the night. A Brunette and a Blonde.

Our Single Guy spots the Brunette and starts with the general small talk chit chat. She’s receptive. She’s responding. She’s conversing. Eye contact. Body language. All good. Target is in sight.

The Married Guy and the Married GO Train guy are hanging back, talking to each other, keeping their drinks fresh. Unfortunately, the Blonde looks bored; she can, with one trip to the bathroom ruin the whole mission.

As I’ve said before, when choosing your wingman, you should always choose one who is going to make you look good. Not look good by comparison – there IS a difference – but make you look good not only to the female in your sights, but to her friend standing beside her. This, dear boys, is where our Single Guy failed.

Enter the Party Starter…

Of the four, he was the worst dressed. Couldn’t even suit it up correctly (but that’s a post for another day). Yes, the music was mediocre, but that did not give him an excuse to do a variation of the chicken dance – especially since no one else in the room was dancing. He’s calling unnecessary attention to himself and trying to chat up the Blonde at the same time. I know that some will advise that your wingman should distract the friend, but this was TOO distracting; his goofball antics where pissing the friend off.

Our Single Guy soldiered on. Focusing all his attention on the Brunette, they seemed to be hitting it off. But the Party Starter…? He just kept trying to liven things up. My friend and I sat a few feet away, watching the plane go down.

“The Blonde is NOT happy…”

“Nope. She’s about ready to call it a night. Single Guy is so not getting laid…Oh look, Married GO Train Guy just sent another text to his wife explaining that they’re still ‘out with the client…’”

As if we scripted the moment ourselves, the Blonde – who has had maybe one drink – has to go “to the bathroom” and takes our Brunette with her.

Yes guys, you know we talk about this shit in the bathroom. We also use the “have to go find a friend…” and “just stepping out for a smoke” (when only one of us smokes). These ladies did the walk around (aka “finding a friend”). Where the Brunette spent most of the walk convincing the Blonde to stick it out at little longer, for her sake. Reluctantly they return…

Only to find that the party is just getting started! Back to the chicken dancing! I’m serious about this chicken dancing, by the way. Dude stuck his elbows out, joined his hands in the middle, and moved his elbows to the beat.

The Blonde? Counting down the moments…

My friend and I are feeling really bad for Single Guy. He’s half-heartedly chicken dancing, talking to the Brunette, AND trying to keep the two Married Guys engaged in the conversation.

He’s taken a hit and is spiraling. His wingman?

Talking justalittletooclose to the Blonde, trying to distract her.

The ladies take leave, again. (BAD SIGN, BAD BAD SIGN), and lo and behold, there IS a friend. So now, the ladies are increasing in number and if you don’t count Married GO Train guy standing off to the side texting his wife, they’re even in number. Which, technically means our Single Guy is outnumbered.

He’s going down.

But finally…FINALLY! The Married Guy steps in to introduce himself to the new friend and takes over the conversation! MY friend and I almost high fived each other the way you do when your team is winning. Then, seamlessly, without calling too much attention the situation, Married Guy and Married GO Train Guy lead the Party Starter AWAY from the “party” and do their own walk around.

My friend and I, thinking that the day has been saved and that our Single Guy will be able to chat up the ladies on his own, do our own walk around. Without this crash and burn, the party we’re at continues to be boring. We decide that we’re going to get ready to leave…

But then…

The Party Starter returns.

He raises one elbow, then the other…

Puts his arms down.

Crisis averted.

When we saw them return, the crash junkies that we were found a new vantage point to observe. Only to be interrupted by Married GO Train Guy, who, misinterpreting our whole watching them for the last 20 minutes as interest, comes over to make his approach.

“How are you ladies doing tonight? You look bored.”

“We ARE”

“So uh what do you do?”

(BAD FIRST QUESTION. BAD BAD BAD. I would prefer “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” before “what do you do?”)

Name blah blah blah…drink? No. Blah blah blah…why aren’t you drinking? I’m working right now. Oh are you in the business?

(By the way, they DID work in Finance)

“I’m an anthropologist.”

“Really? What work could you do here?”

“Observe human behaviour.”

“Oh. Well here that’s easy. Mostly people are out to get drunk and get laid…”

“Yeah. And your friend in the grey jacket has been fucking it up for you all night.”

A moment of shock, then Married GO Train Guy starts laughing. “You’re so right! You hit it on the nose! You’re good.”

Offers a drink again from their bottle service. We decline, and decide that this would be the perfect time to leave. Except…that fucking chicken dance!

I feel really bad for Single Guy. He hasn’t fully turned the situation back around…yet.

So… I walk over to where he and Married GO Train Guy are talking. Upon seeing me stand beside him, he snakes his arm around my waist as if to say, “so you do like my Married GO Train friend here!”

I clap him on the shoulder with one hand, remove his hand from my waist with the other and say:

“The Brunette is very lovely. I think you still have a chance. Get rid of the guy in the grey jacket. Your friend will explain why I’m telling you this…”

Then, we went home.

*NB: (for my non-Ontario readers, the GO Train is a commuter train that takes you from the city’s core to suburbs and outer lying areas. For a Downtown dweller like me, I feel bad for those who must live plan their social lives around not missing the last train…)

I have seen your penis…

Posted on by

10

Well. When a girl has been absent from blogging, she better come back with something to say, right?

Back to the source of this headline: yes. I’ve been absent from the blog, collecting new stories, answering questions and searching for answers. I’ve been working at my day job, my other thing, that other thing that I do, oh and I just started work on…You get it. I’ve been busy. But, although I’ve been busy, I’ve been spending time with friends at dinners and brunches, catching up on emails, g-chatting and having lots and lots of cocktails/cock-tales…

(actually, it’s been more of the cock-tale variety as my tolerance for alcohol has turned me into a cheap drunk. But I digress again…)

At one dinner alone, I saw three separate penis pictures. Three. That’s one for each course. Each had a story (and one, I think, needed medical attention)…one story was that she asked the guy to send a picture of himself. He chose a semi-erect cock shot.

Really?

Then, I’m chilling at the spa one day, and one of the aestheticians had multiple pictures on her phone. Dude had sent her the 12 days of dickmass; various shots of his swollen (and impressive) member, all shot from various angles at different times of the day and, interestingly enough, many included his face. He had no problem revealing what he had; what he didn’t reveal was that he had a girlfriend.

Really?

One day in casual conversation with a guy, he offered to send me a penis pic.  So I need to ask: are your penises the new business card? I like penis as much as the next straight girl, but I’m not sure that I need to see that as a text message at 2 in the afternoon when we’ve only just met. I just want to be clear on something: you know when you receive a picture of a girl’s coochie and you show it to your boys? Women do the same thing.

But this is where things differ: you guys take a look and go “damn” and congratulate each other on the latest addition to your sexual scrapbook. If the girl pisses you off, you post it on Facebook or Twitter (if she hasn’t done it herself already) and then, when you’re bored, you’re on to the next.

You send a pic of your penis to a girl, she’s not just using it as, “ahem” inspiration.  She’s shown that pic to two friends, forwarded it to her best friend, shown it to a couple of coworkers, a bartender at the club, her aesthetician and a few people over dinner. Each of those times, your pic is studied, zoomed in on and critiqued.

Yes. Your penis is being rated.

The ratings range from “ooooh” to “ewwww”. If it looks small, you’re getting laughed at…we don’t care if you were at the pool or just came out of the shower and that there was some shrinkage. We will laugh at your tiny dick.

We will rate your grooming. As one of the women said about one of the penises I’ve seen recently, “where is it? I can’t see the tree for the forest…” We aren’t asking you to wax your balls or anything, but a little grooming goes a long way. Besides, I’m sure I’ve said this already: it will make your dick look bigger! Win-win!

We rate when you compare yourselves to other objects. Thank you for holding your erect penis against a ruler/measuring tape/your AF1’s to show me how long it is. Oooh daddy, you don’t know how much of a turn on that is… (eye roll)

We rate when you send us a penis that couldn’t possibly be your own. I once received a penis pic from a dude. My response “uh, unless you have vitiligo, I don’t think this is yours.” He was trying to be funny you see, because the penis was a micro penis. As my girl who saw it said, “uhm…dude is on the internet looking at dicks? This is what’s hot now?” Do not send a still from Boogie Nights or a porn flick. We’ve seen those movies; we can tell!

We rate the location.  Your intended recipient may not notice right away, but we see the dirty boxer briefs on the floor by the toilet; the stubble in the sink; the bible by your bedside. We will point these little photo flaws out to your intended recipient and we will laugh. Oh yes, the du-rag/sunglasses camouflage so we can’t recognize you right away?

Uhm…not working!

Coochie pics are usually hinted at, requested, solicited…begged for. But a lot of penis pics are of the “tada! Look what I can do!” variety. They show up in our inboxes, DMs, private messages, text messages and BBMs. That whole sneak attack method? Kind of disturbing dude.

Ohhhhhh. You know that other DUDES are seeing your penis pics, right? Guy friends have seen it. Her boyfriend might’ve come across it in her personal effects. The guy at the Genius Bar might’ve seen it when fixing her phone. That wasn’t what you were expecting when you hit “send”, now was it?

Bottom line: make sure your dick looks good, clean up the bathroom/bedroom before taking the pic, and most of all: make sure she wants to see a picture of your penis. Because that’s the only way it’s going to have any chance of remaining for her eyes only.

xoxo/hlbb

What Should HLBB Do…?

Posted on by

13

My job is in media (that’s as detailed as I want to get), and this past weekend was the launch of TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival). To be in Toronto during this time means seeing the famous in line at Starbucks, sitting beside Roger Ebert in a theatre and for us media types, parties, after parties, private parties and well…more parties.

At one such private party on Saturday I was hanging out and conversing with an actor about life and industry stuff when the host of the party started to give a speech. A kindly, much older gentleman standing beside me joked that I was an actress (uh, yeah right) and proceeded to be flirty in the way men past 65 can be: harmless and full of compliments. He started to ask what my line of work was and after I explained what I do, he asked for my card. Card given, he introduced me to his circle, and invited me to join them at a prominent restaurant that they were all heading to, but I declined as I had an after party to attend (such is TIFF). The Gentleman joked about finding me before the weekend was over, and I pointed out that I would be in attendance at a high profile party the next day (one that he would be at).

The next day, I attended the party with a coworker and bumped into The Gentleman as we walked through the door. He pulls my business card from his pocket, to show he remembered me and proceeds to point me in the right direction for refreshments, entertainment, etc. To hear my coworker tell the story the next day, he “didn’t introduce himself to (her), basically ignored (her) and had eyes only for HLBB! He was smitten!” I didn’t see The Gentleman for the rest of the day and even though I did seek him out at the end, I couldn’t find him.

A weekend of parties complete, I returned to my office life yesterday and got back to my usual 9-5 grind. At lunch the phone rings and my call display reads in big letters “THE GENTLEMAN”. I answer the phone, thank him for his hospitality the day before, and he says, “I have two questions for you…”

“Fire away.”

“Will you be at (Party X) on _____? Your client is apparently involved.”

“I didn’t know about it, but it’s likely I will be.”

“Okay. Now, what are you doing this evening? There is a private reception for (insert major corporation here) at _________ and I’d like for you to attend. There are a few things I want to ask you and find out a bit more about you.”

Sidebar: because I know some people are going to say, “bah…I know where this is going…” Let me reiterate: I work in media; when a man of this power and stature summons you to find out more, you take a moment to think about this invitation. It’s the double edged sword in my industry: if you’re female, you have to stop and think “is this business or not business? What happens if I say ‘no’?” If you’re a male, you think, “this power broker wants to go where? Sign me up!”

So I accepted the invite, went home and changed into something very conservative. Then, I did some research. TIFF parties are publicized in the media, even when the media isn’t allowed to cover it. I couldn’t find a single thing listed. The restaurant that this party was being held at is a known TIFF venue; one where deals are made and those with names like Weinstein have lunch. I couldn’t find anything listed. So yes, I got weirded out. What the fuck was this. I called a friend who is connected to see if she knew. She didn’t. I even asked someone I just met over the weekend if they had heard anything (which I hated doing because I don’t like asking for favours) but I was getting desperate. This party started in 3 hours and no one in my circles knew it existed.

Was it a set up? Not necessarily. Parties like this happen often…it’s just that regular folk don’t know about them. As the party was in the evening, at not at night, I decided to not cancel. I told coworkers and two friends where I’d be. I also invented a boyfriend with a back story (“Michael”) in case I was asked. I arrived and sure enough, there was the woman with the clipboard. I said that I was supposed to be meeting The Gentleman and told her my name. She smiled and said “Oh, yes. He didn’t tell me your name, but The Gentleman told me to expect you; go right upstairs love…”

Erm…

To look around the room, most of the attendees looked like your everyday Vice President in media. Some had come straight from screenings; others were already dressed for after parties. Open bar, hors d’oeuvres, food…everything you might expect. While some boast of popping bottles, this was the kind of party where a bottle was popped about every 5 minutes. My host arrived with friends in tow and proceeded to introduce me to the room. VPs? Fuck that, these people decide what movies we see and the TV shows on the air. Their names are on liquor bottles, the spines of books and of course, listed in the credits. Agents, artist managers, they were all there. If there was a VP in the room, I didn’t meet them; I met their boss.

The Gentleman knows them all. In fact, even though this was a stand and mingle/schmooze type of party, he sat at a table and had the people come to him. Even though the hors d’oeuvres were passed around, the serving staff came to our table first. Even though the bar was open, our drinks were brought to us. I questioned him about his obvious influence and asked if it was fear or respect. He said he hoped no one feared him. He asked me about work, what I did, how did I get there, etc etc…so I basically recited my resume.

I thought, “Oh thank gawd…he’s not a dirty old man. This will be a person to know. He can open doors…for me (and by extension friends and clients)…this could change the path of my career. This is amazing!” As people approached the table to say their hellos, one gentleman sat down and talked with us for a bit. He was the son of someone The Gentleman knew well (and closer to my age). As they chatted, he introduced me and said “this is HLBB, a very good friend of ours, so you’ll need to behave yourself.”

Now, The Gentleman has been like a grandfatherly mentor up to this point, so I’m half expecting him to do some sort of matchmaking; especially since he just inquired about this guy’s dating status (single). But then he says:

“She’d be more than a friend if it wasn’t for 1 – excuse me – 2 obstacles. One being my wife and the other being Martin, her boyfriend.”

“Michael”

“Yeah that. Him.”

Fack.

After the guy leaves, I proceed to have a “boundaries conversation”. He may view his wife as a minor technicality, but I have a boyfriend and we’ve been together for over two years. He then says, (in front of others) “I will be honest with you. When I saw you on Saturday, I thought to myself ‘this is a beautiful, intelligent and savvy woman who has the most gorgeous mouth I have ever seen.”

I choked on my champagne and laughed.

“Don’t belittle this! I’m telling you the truth. Ask anyone from that night!” (One friend actually nods in agreement.)

“I’m laughing because that’s the second time I’ve ever heard a compliment about my mouth.”

“I’m surprised you don’t hear it daily. Who was the first?”

(fack fack fack…by the way, I am telling the truth, that was the second time ever that I’ve heard that compliment. But I couldn’t say whom. So…)

“My boyfriend. But he now jokes that he doesn’t always like what comes out of it, of course!”

“Does Martin know you’re here?”

“Michael. Yes of course he does. He knows all about my activities this weekend and how I met you. I told him over coffee just this morning”

“Over coffee?!? Do you – live together?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes he’s with me, or I’m with him. My place is closer to his work…”

“I can live with that.”

“Now wait a minute. There’s nothing for you to live with. I have a boyfriend. You have a wife —-“

He of course explains his marital situation, and I come up with every rebuttal you can think of. I even mention what his children (who are closer to my age) might think.

“My eldest would approve…”

Fack.

He starts to tell me about all the events I could attend with him in this week alone, including screenings, galas, and more private parties. Should I choose and if “Martin” (“Michael”. “Yes him”) were to give permission. He starts to tell me about the people I could be introduced to and the doors that would be opened for me. I keep downing champagne as I’m absorbing the implications. We move to another part of the room and I duck out to the ladies. Frantic texts and tweets read “DIRTY OLD MAN!!” I then returned to our new seat. The introductions keep coming; and so do the implications.

As he proceeds to further compliment my figure, he tells me that all the best features. Not in a crass way, but more in the way car collector describes the lines and contours of a classic jaguar. He then says, “unlike other men of my generation, I have no problems with oral sex. While I wouldn’t dare imagine your breasts, rest assured I have imagined my head between your thighs.”

I downed my freshly poured flute of champagne in about 10 seconds.

He made no apologies for the things he said, and would only feel bad if had offended me. As HLBB, there’s not much you can say that will really offend me, but I had no idea how to react. He continued:

“You are a beautiful woman. You may not realize this as yet, but there are people in this room who will want to know you and I’d be happy to introduce you.”

We parted ways about a half hour later…me to “meet friends”, at another restaurant, him home to his wife. His parting words were, “I want you to think about it, because I know you are. You can tell Martin (“Michael”. “Yes. Michael”) if you want. But I will leave the ball in your court.”

So here’s the situation this morning as I write this in a champagne induced hangover. I will see The Gentleman by circumstance (at my client’s events and such); there will be no avoiding him and he’s made his desire(s) quite clear. Doors could be opened…but I’m not sure if I have to open my legs to make those doors open…

I’m not going to tell you what I’m thinking. I want you to tell me what you think…

Go…

Dinner With a Married Man…

Posted on by

18

I get it. I really do. Marriage is hard. It’s messy, annoying, challenging and I don’t care what anyone says, working at a marriage is harder than most jobs. I don’t envy you…it’s also why I’m not married. I’m known for saying that a ring doesn’t tell me a man is married, his actions do. If you’re married, I want you to look at your ring and then look at your actions. Do they match? Because darling (married) boy, there’s something to me that just doesn’t add up in the scenario below:

“Want to meet for coffee…? Can’t meet for coffee, let’s go to dinner. I’ll call you…”

I wasn’t invited to your wedding. In fact, if memory serves no one from your family (except your brother) was invited, because they didn’t agree with the religious conversion that came with the wedding. Your bride you had told me about…young (younger than you by a decade), so sweet and kind (innocent), and beautiful…oh so beautiful in both body and spirit.

I met her a year or two after your wedding, when your brother invited me to his. She was very pretty, sweet as candy, quiet and (in my opinion) a little too soft for the likes of you. In fact, you made her cry at one point in the evening. You weren’t cruel or harsh; she just didn’t get it. Knowing your personality all too well, I silently hoped that she’d be able to “handle” you and your moods. Years went by, your brother divorced and you stayed married. You explained that your new religion prevent you from speaking to women who were not family, so our sporadic communication had now been reduced to hellos and goodbyes should I be invited to a family event (i.e. your sister’s wedding, her baby shower, your mother’s birthday).  That was fine; long gone were the days when spoke to each other twice a day. You had chosen your life and I had chosen mine.

“I don’t know how she’ll react if you call. My religion doesn’t really allow me to talk to other women. So, it’s best if I call you, okay?”

It had been at least 2 years since we last spoke. You wanted to look me up and chose to go online and search for me. All you could find was a LinkedIn profile. You called me at my office and were surprised that I recognized your voice right away, and all I could wonder was “what did you want?” I decided to nip this in the bud and although I knew it would be on the DL, agreed to meet you for meal. I knew this wasn’t to be happy reunion…I told a few trusted friends and promised I’d check in after. It’s kind of sad that you were once a person I trusted with my life and now, I no longer trusted you to have a meal.

“You look good…did you let your hair grow back? Is that all yours? You smell good…”

“Yes, it’s all mine. Thanks. So…how’s _______?”

 

(You may not want to talk about your wife, but I will)

“You know when a bird needs to leave the nest, but refuses to fly? Yeah. That’s what it’s like right now with her. She’s like what, 26? 27? She looks at me like I’m some sort of father figure! She’s home with the baby…I’m not working right now, so she just depends on me to do…everything!”

“Well, you did marry her when she was 20…”

As we walk, he reaches around my back, pulling me closer to him the process, lifting the sleeve on my cardigan. I jump three feet in the air and away from him.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what? Oh yeah. That.”

“Awwww…Did you tattoo my name on your wrist? That’s so sweet!”

“No.”

“Ouch! Shot down, just like that?”

“Yes.”

We arrive at our destination and order our meals.  I have no appetite. For someone who had a lot to say, he’s not saying it. I know it’s serious, because whenever he has something important to say, he can’t make eye contact and gets really fidgety.

“I’ve been thinking a lot. There are so many things I want to say to you…”

“Say the first thing that comes to mind…”

He tells me that he’s unhappy in his marriage. That his wife not only refuses to grow up, but has become cold, unresponsive. She’s no longer…romantic. He doesn’t know how long his marriage will last. He wants his family, but he can’t take it anymore.  I ask if things changed after she had the baby (who is only 15 months old). He says maybe, but that she had a lot of insecurities going into the marriage that he can’t fix. It’s not like he’s out running around with a bunch of different women…

(Except you’re out now. With me. But she doesn’t know that.)

These are insecurities he can’t fix. He can’t be the hero any more…he has things to do in your life. I nod. I listen. I wonder. I ask.

“So why did you look me up?”

 

“I’m beginning to realize this sense of… freedom. I gave up a lot of friendships and people. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I think back to our friendship and I just remember….”

“Uh huh…”

“You make me feel good. When I’m around you, good things happen. You like things that I like…I’m exposed to new music. Art. Ideas. You’ve always had a life that was interesting…”

“I make you feel good…? Really?”

 

He continues…“I’ve been hurt by a lot of people. You’ve hurt me…”

“I’m pretty sure I have.”

 

(I can’t remember a single occasion, but I’m playing along…)

“I weighed the pros and cons of contacting you and the pros outweighed the cons.”

“What were the cons?”

“I don’t want to focus on the negative. The point is we’re here talking — “

The phone rings. It’s his wife. He ignores the call and I arch my brow.

The phone rings again. It’s her calling back and he says, “I thought I turned this to silent” while setting the phone to vibrate.

I suggest that she’s calling because maybe there’s something up with the baby. He shrugs and says, “No, she just wants to know what time I’m coming home.” I give him the “are you serious expression” which he chooses to ignore.

He talks about his newfound sense of freedom. Explains that his marriage is on the decline and he needs to reconnect to people who matter. I ask about other people from his past that he’s connected with…he’s contacted no one else. He tells me about his work (or lack thereof due to an injury on the job), his son, the books he’s been reading. He asks me nothing of my life, except to ask where I’m living. I say “downtown”. He asks if I live alone. I tell the truth and say yes and he replies, “I miss that, being alone. You have a good set up…”

The phone rings again. It’s his wife. He waits for the ringing to stop and shuts off the phone.

Again, I suggest that maybe there’s something happening at home, and he replies that he doesn’t “want to hear her mouth right now”.

“So…what else?”

“Huh?”

 

“You said you had a lot on your mind that you wanted to talk about…”

“Oh, that’s way too much shit to lay on your doorstep. There’s so much, but it would just depress you.”

 

“I’m here. You wouldn’t have asked me here if you didn’t want to tell me.”

“Y’know. I never realized how cute your nose is! Did you do something to it?”

 

“No. Are you suggesting I had a nose job?”

 

“I just want to reach out and squeeze it! Can I?!”

 

“No!”

He laughs, tells me how cute I am when I’m annoyed and how his misses my expressiveness. Our meal is finally over, we make our way towards the subway and he turns his phone back on. I decide to be an instigator.

“Stupid question. But won’t it anger her more that you’re ignoring her calls?”

 

“I don’t care anymore. Are you taking the subway?”

“No. That’s the beauty of living downtown…anything south of Bloor is within walking distance.”

“We might be moving downtown too. There’s space in her mom’s co-op. So, we could be there in a couple of months if it all works out…”

“What? Moving or your marriage?”

 

“My marriage.”

 

(We stare at each other…)

“Listen it was really great seeing you again. Maybe we can meet up again? I don’t have your cell number though. I would say call me, but if  _________ answers, she might get upset…but I could call you sometime?”

 

“Sure. You can call me. When you’re allowed to.”

“Huh?”

 

“YOU can call me, at my office, when YOU’RE allowed to call me. When YOU can make calls in front of your wife and accept calls from me in front of her. Then and only then you can call me, because I’M going to choose to respect the rules of your religion and your marriage. Go home to your family. Have a great life, whatever you decide…”

He nodded. Smiled. I walked away.

In telling this story to another male, he thought I was being too harsh. What say you dear readers?