relationships

Infernus Sanguinum

It was a dark and stormy night in Port Hardy.  Port Hardy, as you may know,  is the end of the line- the terminus of the Island Highway, and the dropping off point for parts unknown.

It was also Saturday night, and the start of our vacation. It was time to show my lady a good time. Continue reading

Categories: Etiquette & manners, humour, Reflections, relationships, Travel | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

How to Show a Lady a good time

Ours was an arranged marriage . We were prodded out of our comfortable, but untidy living arrangements by my parents, who gently but inexorably nudged us towards the altar; eventually hosting the nuptials to ensure the job got done.

The event was planned for December 27th, to coordinate with the annual gathering of the widely dispersed clan for the Christmas festivities.

I awoke to my first as a married man to discover that my bride was deathly ill- probably the flu,  but just possibly a delayed shock reaction to my impulsive decision (for the first and only time in our married life) to shave my beard for the wedding ceremony.

Our honeymoon was to be a free-form driving excursion down the coast to Tijuana, (which, being young,  I thought  seemed like a suitably  romantic destination)  so I bundled my ailing and feverish bride into my aging VW Rabbit and pointed it south. Not wanting to detract from the spontaneity of the event, I had eschewed all forms of advance planning. We would be gypsies, free as birds and responding only to the siren song of the open road.

By the time we hit the Oregon border it was pitch dark, and  my gypsy bride lay swaddled in blankets in the passengers seat, moaning softly every now and then just to let me know that she hadn’t actually expired. When the fog rolled in, I knew it was time to get off the Inter-State and park the gypsy caravan for the night.

I took the next exit, hoping  that it might lead to into a town with accommodation, only to discover that the fog was even thicker off the highway. I could see nothing beyond the circle of light cast by my headlight, and no signs of habitation anywhere. Slowing to a crawl,  I strained  to see through the gloom, for what seemed an eternity, and rejoiced when finally,  a neon motel sign appeared out of the darkness. The sign was somewhat  dilapidated, and not all its letters were alight but it announced both a motel and a vacancy. I couldn’t discern the motel proper, just a dimly lit office, so, with some trepidation I turned in.

My first clue should have been the wire cage that protected the receptionist seated beneath faded signs declaring “CASH ONLY”  and “NO REFUNDS“. I glanced out the grimy office window in search of an alternative, but saw none. Exhausted, and with  the heavy weight of my new found responsibility as a husband of finding shelter for my sick  bride descending upon me, I ponied up the cash.

Our entry to our ‘no refund’ room, lacked entirely the  panache and romance traditionally associated with a newlywed couple’s entry to the bridal suite, but in fairness, the Timberland Motel’s finest wasn’t quite up to bridal suite standards (dubious that it was up to  local health or building code standards for that matter)

Surveying the grubby room, which reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and worse, my gypsy bride stared hard at the yellowed sheets and frayed  blanket covering  the thin mattress, and croaked, “I’m not sleeping in that” before wrapping herself in her coat, and curling up on top of the bed.

The horror of the room was surpassed only by the condition of the bathroom, a detailed description of which I will omit, lest it offend more sensitive readers. I too elected to sleep in my clothes, on top of the bed, and rationalized that gypsies probably didn’t shower every day, so there was no need to attempt the rusted shower enclosure.

The second day of our married life dawned clear and sunny, to reveal, a scant 400 yards down the road, a sparkling new and shiny Howard Johnson motel with quality  accommodation fit for a young  gypsy King and his Queen, had only we persevered not two minutes more.

Perseverance is one of the hallmarks of a successful marriage, and we must have acquired some somewhere along the way, since today marks out 37th wedding anniversary !

Now, reluctant as a fellow is to ask for advice or directions, does anyone know of a first class hotel that caters to geriatric gypsies ?

 

Categories: Etiquette & manners, humour, marriage, Reflections, relationships | Tags: | 2 Comments

Don’t go under the Mistletoe —

In the aftermath of L’affaire Weinstein, and in the face of the rise of the #METOO movement, navigating the already dangerous shoals of interpersonal relationships has become a whole lot more complicated for us guys.

No wonder then that when a dear friend posted the following query on her Facebook page it elicited several hundred responses :

LADIES! Should a man ask permission for a 1st kiss? Hot or not? Have rules changed?”

I confess I had to think about it awhile, since its been a number of decades since the  issue has had any personal relevance to me, (although I think, back in the day, I was probably more inclined to beg forgiveness afterwards than ask permission beforehand, ) but the conversation on Facebook was lively and interesting, with several wags suggesting that the only safe course for a fellow to follow would be not only to ask, but to get it in writing , with her signature on a lawyer-drawn “Consent to Kiss” form. As soon as I saw the post, I knew my duty was clear-I must protect my Bros, by crafting such a form. So, guys, here it is- no need to thank me- we’ve got to stick together, ya know! – just buy me a  beer sometime.

                                                      CONSENT TO SNOG

BETWEEN

(Guy- insert your real name here )

(Hereinafter the “Snoggor”)

AND:

(insert name of object of your affections here )

(Hereinafter the “Snoggee”)

WHEREAS: Snoggor intends to  invite Snoggee to participate in certain activities more particularly defined herein, ( the “Defined Activities”) and wishes to confirm Snoggee’s informed and enthusiastic consent to such activities;

AND WHEREAS Snoggee warrants that she is of full legal age (as defined by the Age of Majority Statute of her Province of principal residence, and/or the Criminal Code of Canada);

AND WHEREAS Snoggee  is aware that the Defined Activities carry with them certain inherent  risks, included, but not limited to, feeling of euphoria,  unexpected metabolic or physiological changes, transmission of disease, risk of developing interpersonal relationships, which can occasionally lead to matrimony, and further that Defined Activities are gateway activities, which may lead to  participation in more intense activities, including, but not limited to nuzzling, licking, groping, fondling, and/or Hanky Panky.

WITNESS that Snoggee, by affixing her hand and seal hereto as of the date  hereof does :

(select one)

grudgingly,

willingly

enthusiastically

passionately

hereby consent to participate in one or more of the following  Defined Activities and releases and saves harmless the Snoggor from and against any liability  pertaining to participation in the Defined Activities

(select all that apply)

a)    a kiss  ( French ? or English?)

b)    multiple kisses

c)   other associated and incidental activities

Dated at  ____________ in the Province of British Columbia  this    day of         2017

(Snoggee sign here )     _____________________________

 

  • definitions – for the purposes of this consent and release form  Defined  Activities shall mean and include a kiss/snog/smooch/or tonsil hockey involving interfacing passionately with another being, creating a field of physical obsession and focused arousal centered on the lips, mouth and tongue, and in the Territories a=of Nunavut, Northwest Territories and Yukon, may include, mutatis  mutandi, the rubbing of noses.

 

 

 

Categories: humour, law, Reflections, relationships | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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