Prelude to a Love Story
Tomorrow marks the twenty-first anniversary of my first date with my future husband and the fourteenth anniversary of our wedding. We got married on the seventh anniversary of our first date. Marrieds, all together now: awwww. Singletons, puke at will.
But today holds a special significance for me as well. Twenty-one years ago tonight, I was hanging out with my friend Christine near South Street Seaport, chatting excitedly about my upcoming date. We were in a little seating area in front of a bank on Fulton Street, and there were many other people enjoying the night air around us. Those seats are long gone. The topography of that street has changed many times over.
As was usual in the late 1980s, there were scads of yuppies getting drunk in the open air of the Fulton Fish Market. Two of them stumbled up the street and decided they would pick us up. I suppose we should have felt lucky that they chose us. One of the masters of the universe was red-faced and wavering as if the sidewalk were a balance beam. The other, slightly less soused, did the talking.
Christine and I were not in the mood for this interruption. I’m not sure how the conversation devolved to the point where I invited him to “whip it out,” but it did, and he generously acquiesced. Unfortunately for him, whiskey dick cuts across all social strata. His penis drooped between thumb and forefinger like a sad little mushroom cap.
This was too amusing not to share, so I turned to the others sitting there and said, “Look at this! This guy’s showing us his dick!”
I should mention now that Christine had the kind of throaty, bawdy laugh that made all heads turn. It ground activity to a halt in restaurants, blotted out the dialogue in movie theaters and made people fervently hope they were not the target of her mirth.
So at this particular moment, she let loose with a boomer that echoed off the surrounding buildings. This caused everyone around us to crack up as well. The poor guy had at least a dozen people laughing at his diminutive manhood. Wisely, he put it away.
At this point, I advised him that it wasn’t so bad because I was sure he wouldn’t remember any of this the next day at his cushy Wall Street job. He replied, “I’ll make a thousand dollars tomorrow.”
And then I uttered one of the best lines I have ever said: “Oh, yeah? A thousand dollars a day won’t make your penis bigger.”
Needless to say, the gentleman was none too pleased with my statement. He looked for a moment like he would lunge at me. I was trying to gauge his drunkenness. I knew I could easily knock down his friend, who continued to sway, smiling dumbly, apparently thinking things were going well.
Instead, the guy called me a f**king c**t. I find it thrilling to be called that. When a man (or woman) unleashes that word, I know I have hit my mark. My grin must have caught him off guard. After a little more salty language, he lurched away, pulling his friend by the arm. Neither one spilled a drop of the beer in their plastic to-go cups. A few minutes later, a cop walked by, too late to witness the tableau, too late for me to press charges. While carrying an open container of alcohol and flashing is illegal, being a bitch is not. I love this country.
Years later, I related this all to my mother-in-law, finishing with “…and that’s the last penis I saw before your son’s.” She laughed. True story.
"Singletons, puke at will."
I would, but I can't find my Hancock DVD.
@C.B.: I hesitated to use that term. It's so Bridget Jonesy.
Hancock was a really terrible movie even though the premise was funny. The whole Charlize Theron thing ran it right off the rails.
Pretty much an epic burn. Seriously, handled with the grace of a true lady. I love it!! :)
That's romantic! I know a girl that I think is a fucking cunt. I wonder if I call her that will she love me…I'll give it a try. I don't like her, so if she gets pissed it's not something new. However, I refuse to hold my penis in my hand in public. Drunk or not.
Happy Early Anniversary! What a sweet story. I wonder if that guy took the money and got a penis enlargement?
@thesangfroid: Thank you very much. I was really proud of myself that that comeback flew out of my mouth at the right moment.
@Don: I said it thrills me, not that I'd date the person who said it. I've been called it by men (and one woman during a fight on an airplane–story for another day) and it tickles me every time. The last time was in a bar and I outed the guy for wearing a toupee after he said it. Good times.
@thinkinfyou: Thanks!Now that you mention it, a few years later I started working for plastic surgeons. None of them would do penis enlargement because, unlike screwing up a woman's breasts, you can't get away with messing up.
Basically, the surgery is like cutting the muscle under your tongue so it hangs out further. The other option is to inject fat or fillers to increase girth. But it's just visual. And $1,000 wouldn't buy him either procedure. But I would have gladly enlarged it for free by slamming it in a door! ;)
Ahhh, there's nothing better than a cockfight! Happy anniversary!
Oh, thank God! I thought this was all leading up to how you met your husband. You know, him being the one with the exposed mushroom cap.
@Tiggy: Thank you! We're going to stay at the Waldorf for a couple nights since that's where we got married.
@Nanny Goats: Heavens forfend! That would not be a story with a happy ending–wink wink nudge nudge.
P.S. I wrote to Don that a woman on a plane called me the C word, but my hubby just reminded me that I'm the one who called her that. In fact, he was just bragging about it at work. It was pre 9/11, of course. That's why I'm not in Gitmo now.
I'm glad Nanny Goats said it. I was thinking the same thing and was like, "Whoa!"
And I've been reading your blog for a little while, you should be in Gitmo already. ;)
@unfinished: I should have made it more clear that Christine and I were yakking about my upcoming date. I left out some of the backstory in the interest of story length.
And I am so flattered that you said I should be in Gitmo. I think my compliment wiring is fooched.
Congrats on your anniversary! *virtual high-five*
Your touching story brought a tear to my eye, you smooth talker you ;-)
You and I were separated at birth I swear fo gawd! The C word is a word I use sparingly. If I am getting ready to kick some serious ass then that is your only warning! Loved the story and I did catch you talking about your upcoming date pre-mushroom cap. Seriously funny.
@Herman: Thanks! I've always thought it was cool how much my mother-in-law enjoyed that story. She was a very cool lady.
@ettarose: Yeah, the chick on the plane went white as a sheet and didn't dare turn around during six hours of flight. I'd been defending the flight attendants so I got extra snacks and drinks for the rest of the flight.
I'm glad you understood that mushroom cap was not my date for the next night. My husband is mortified that anyone might think that.
((guffawing))
You are hysterical! I'm glad I ran across your blogosphere.
What started out as a charming anniversary sentiment ended in the best cut down, just the funny I needed to pick me up today!
I was wondering while reading about Mr. Biggg's "plight" (and you saying a thousand dollars a day wouldn't make his penis bigger) caused him to think, and maybe he is the filthy bastard behind all those penis enlargement spam ads!! lol ;)
Good one anyways, thanks!
@Aunt Jackie: You may be right. I may have created a monster: a small-penised monster, but a monster nonetheless.
I don't know how you found me, but thanks and feel free to drop by any time.