In the Bar All Cats are Grey
The great thing about being married that no one tells you is the freedom to experiment with gender roles. I'm not talking about gender roles as they relate to one's sexuality, or anything lik'aht, but as they relate to how one can act socially.
I was out with MY HUSBAND and a few friends, all guys, when we started talking about which women at the bar were attractive. One friend had a truly brilliant taxonomy:
1. not attractive
2. attractive, but not attractive to me
3. attractive to me
So, now that I'm married and I'm hearing all this, I decide I'm gender-neutral. I take a walk around the bar, scoping out the women, only to be chatted up by a middle-aged dude about some band I now feel ashamed to have never heard, and come back with a report. This one is very beautiful, but maybe gay; this one has friends with her, this one has incredibly large shoulders, etc. etc. I actually pick one for another friend. From where we were sitting, he agrees that she looks very promising. Without his explicit permission but with strong encouragement from others, I sit down next to her and outline my case: "I'm married (not interested in you) and my friend (not my husband or boyfriend) thinks
you're beautiful and he'd like to buy you a drink. Oh, and do you like guys? (when I ask this question, I can't believe I'm asking it, but decide it's o.k. because I'm married, a social neutron) She says yes and it's clear that she's very flattered.
This is where I have an experience I never knew guys had
until last night. She accepts the drink but when she comes over to us we find out that she is, in fact, beautiful though quite a bit taller than my friend, who generally favors women of a smaller cast and figah (to be said to oneself with a southern accent). Perhaps there were platforms involved, but it becomes clear, alarmingly early, that the situation I'd brought forth was somewhat less than ideal.
I feel really bad, turn around so I don't have to watch the wreckage and think about buying the girl another drink or maybe a toaster just to thank her for being such a good sport.
I apologize. I'm really, really sorry. Mea maxima culpa.