A special, romantic evening... kind of!
WE were 13 years married last week. That's like 50 years in normal married terms because living with me for one year probably feels like about 10! To mark the occasion I booked us a hotel in Dublin and got us tickets for a gig. Okay, the hotel was somewhere I wanted to stay and the gig was my favourite band, but still, it was the thought.
It's probably just as well Himself is not the romantic type because I invited two of my friends along as well. Now you may think any man would be offended at this, but to be honest I'd say Himself had completely forgotten it was our anniversary and was happy for the distraction as he'd no little surprises for me up his sleeve.
We arrived at the hotel, which was very cool and very funky – a lot of white leather and chrome. It was 4pm on a Friday and there was a DJ in the bar and a girl walking up and down playing sax. I suggested we go in and have a cocktail although Himself insisted on having a pint. Everybody in the bar was 'coke ad' beautiful and about 20 years younger than the two of us. Himself was a bit perplexed.
'I think this is a gay hotel,' he whispers. 'Why do you say that?' I asked, sucking up my Long Island Iced Tea. 'Because all the men in here are very good looking and there are no women!' I looked around and be the hokey! The men were very good looking. And the only women in the place were myself and yer woman on the sax!
'Sure that's great. The lads will fit right in! And you might get lucky!' I said, referring to our friends, a gay couple, who were meeting up with us.
Himself sank his Heineken in record speed and ordered another. By the time the boys arrived he was giddy as a child at christmas. They quickly scoped the bar and said, 'No it's not a gay bar, ya eejits, but we'll bring you to one if you like.'
So off we trotted to a fancy place with doormen, where we were warned not to stare or gawp once we got inside. Knowing what a motor mouth I am with a few drinks in me, the boys kept a tight grip on my hand, steering me to a seat. 'Now the front section is where the swingers go and the back section is gay,' they whispered.
'Swingers?' I shouted in disbelief, as myself and Himself stared open-mouthed at the perfectly normal looking couples having a drink in front of us.
'Would you shut up!' hissed our friends.
We realised how parochial we had become when two transvestites arrived in. Himself fell off his stool and I took a fit of the giggles. Our companions gave us stern looks and told us to cop on but that only made us laugh more.
Needless to say I may as well have been invisible but Himself was a bit disconcerted that he wasn't hit on. 'I was sure I'd be chatted up,' he said. 'Not that I fancy men but still like you know what I mean, it would be nice to be appreciated.'
'Just as well I appreciate you then, isn't it?' I said, rubbing his head, and off we went carrying each other back to the hotel, wondering should we stop for chips on the way.
Who said romance is dead?
New Ross Standard