On the Porch with Petunia

I've learned many interesting facts of dating in the twentieth and twenty-first century from the many women I've been out with – as noted by all those scraps of names and numbers I accumulate.

One girl – we'll call her Petunia as opposed to God, What Was Her Name – explained to me that women of the new millennium find being asked if they are 'seeing anyone', which I had just done, to be intolerably passé.

"You cannot just walk up and ask a lady if she is seeing anyone," Petunia said in exasperation. "Women of my generation would rather be immediately taken to dinner at an exotic eatery followed by wine and art exhibits." She said this last bit in a very matter of fact tone. I was stunned by this, and asked if we were just supposed to grab the girl without saying anything before taking her to all these places. She simply nodded. "Better that than 'so…you seeing anyone'. To ask that these days? No. I'm sorry. Passé."

Petunia equated such an act as being on the level of renting your first porno, and then nervously stating, "It's for my daughter."

Or

A gorgeous woman asks you out after work and you stupidly wink saying, "I don't know, Babe. Are you allowed to be out that late?"

Or

Asking a woman if she's pregnant. That's just a bad move whether she is or isn't.

Petunia and I obviously never lasted past one evening. I think it was because after her mantra on how to break the ice these days I had lost that picture I get of what the woman I'm talking to would look like naked. Whatever the reason I just thought sex with Petunia would be demeaning.

We were talking about all this modern dating when I decided to test her by squeezing her high up under her skirt. She looked horrified and jumped off of the porch swing we were sitting on. "I did not give you such permission!" she screamed. I asked why I could drag her off to a ritzy restaurant without saying a word, but I had to get written permission to feel her up. She said that was totally different. I asked why.

"Because you're paying for the dinner."

"So you'd get in the car with a total stranger just because he tells you he can get a table at any restaurant in town."

"Yes"

"But you wouldn't let the same guy grab your tits if he just met you"

"No"

"The guy could be a serial killer."

"He's not grabbing my breasts."

"No, I mean the ritzy guy."

"Oh. Well that's a chance I could take. The other guy just grabbing me that's rape."

"But you'd rape the ritzy guy's bank account."

"Well he's paying for my dinner."

"So the other guy could feel you up if he paid you for it I guess."

"Get the fuck off my porch!"

People come into your life for specific reasons. Each individual you share a conversation with during your day. That conversation will mean something to you on some level later on. It will occur to you in a flash when you least expect it. You'll be wandering down the salad bar at Applebee's waiting for the old lady in front of you to hurry the fuck up with those plastic tongs so you can get the last big red strawberry. Then when the old lady finally moves on some kid with curly red hair will grab the strawberry and you'll cuss and call him a faggot and throw the tongs at him. Then you'll look over and see your wife tugging at her pantyhose and think Man, I'm glad I never asked if she was seeing anyone....

I'm glad I never had sex with Petunia.