Tuesday, March 15, 2005

How it started

Dear Jane,

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, sleeping with your husband for the past year and a quarter. I'll tell you the whole story. Since I can't talk about it for one more minute with my friends, who have started to roll their eyes every time I mention "F's" name, I need to unload it somewhere, so this is the place I'm doing it.

Let's see, when did it start? Hmmm....I started doing business with your husband in September of 2003. The very first time I met him, he said something along the lines of, "Take my wife, please." I actually thought it was pretty crass for him to bring that up in front of a virtual stranger... But your husband, for all his tacky comments, bad pleated pants, bourgeouis values, and really terrible taste in shirts, he did something for me. There was an instantaneous attraction between us.

My friend says it's because I have a liking for BDG's -- that's Big Dumb Galoots, in the parlance. Your husband is nothing if not a BDG. If he wasn't a nice Jewish boy from New Jersey who was conditioned to follow in daddy's footsteps, take over the family business, marry a NJG and spawn a couple of ankle-biters, I'm sure he would have been a fireman or construction worker. Maybe a bartender at a ski resort.

Anyhow, we did some work together -- I hired him, and he did a really good job for me, and in the course of doing business, we learned that our birthdays were mere DAYS apart. So on his birthday, which falls three days before mine, I stopped into his office to wish him a happy-happy. He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of my very very favorite, our old Uncle Johnnie Walker Black. He poured a couple of toots, and we toasted to each others' good health.

I was sitting at his assistant's desk, and he was sitting in a chair next to me -- I dunno, we were looking at something on the computer, and then suddenly, he said, "And now, I'm going to give you your birthday kiss." Then leaned in and planted one on me.

I've gotta tell you, Jane.... Maybe you've forgotten, or maybe you just haven't been kissing enough people to tell the difference. Your husband, the Big Dumb Galoot, overweight, bad-shirt-wearin', well, he is a great kisser. One of the best ever.

We sat there in his office and just kissed -- for at least a half hour. Kisses that left us both breathless and shaky and saying, "wow." We made out like teenagers before a curfew. It was awesome.

Then I left and went home for the weekend.


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