So the wife's 25th High School Reunion was a blast.
It's weird to look out on a room of 60 women and know they are all the same age. Going in blind you'd think there was a 25 year age gap between some of them.
Being an all-girls school we were mostly saved from any efforts of re-kindling schoolyard crushes. And of the 30 or so blokes who went along as husbands or boyfriends I was the one deemed to have "a look".
Back in the day the designer look meant stubble and a Don Johnson roll of the jacket sleeves. This week in Ohio I think it just meant "the guy not wearing chinos and an oversized button down shirt".
And so it came to pass that an assortment of ladies shook their assorted asses to hits of the 80's played by a kid who was probably conceived in the 90's. I shudder to think of the royalties Hall & Oates received for this night.
After a few slow jams at night end, the party was breaking up, and as is customary in these situations we began to say our goodbyes. While Anne exchanged contacts with long lost friends, I had a 43 year old mother of four slow grind herself down my leg while she slurred "Come on Hot Dog we didn't dance tonight".
Now admittedly I was wearing a T-Shirt that said Hot Dog, and for a mother of four she was quite attractive, but it's tricky to know what to do in this situation. I have no desire to quash her already low self-esteem, but all I really wanted to do was leave.
Quite naturally I adopted the deer in the headlights pose and begged Anne to get me the hell out of there.