Couples’ night

She was licking your neck?!?! ~ me

Couples’ night ranks a close second to “date night” as my least favorite of all nights. Even worse than “pork chop night” in my book and you, dear reader, are about to find out why.

Rach and I moved to Boulder in the summer of ’91 and I began work shortly thereafter at a local bike shop — a serious McJob while I interviewed for positions in Med schools around the country. I quickly became somewhat reluctant friends with another salesperson whom we’ll call “Phil” for no other reason than I would like to protect his anonymity just in case he would prefer it that way. Phil was dating “Evelyn”, a Swedish transplant in the States via a fake green card marriage (to someone non-Phil) that was to be annulled later that week and Phil asked if Rach and I would like to join him and Evelyn for a celebratory evening on the town. Naturally, not knowing what lay ahead, and our dearth of acquaintences at that point, we accepted the offer with enthusiasm. Big mistake.

So the night of Evelyn’s annulment started off with introductions, then drinks, then a few more drinks with a serious amount of awkwardness, hilarity and horror thrown in for good measure.

Evelyn was an attractive young woman with some serious, serious unresolved issues. Apparently, she thought of herself as a mystic of sorts with the ability to “read” people and their auras. No more than 7 minutes into the evening, Evelyn grasped Rach’s hand, started manically caressing it with her thumb, looked into her eyes and said, “I get a strange vibe from you… did your father molest you?” This was the first of many awkward and fearful glances exchanged between Rach and myself that evening. Seriously? That’s your lead in? Maybe they do things a little differently elsewhere, honey, but that is not your typical getting-to-know-you conversation here in the U.S. Evelyn then stated that she would like to paint Rach naked. Her English was actually quite good but we still aren’t certain whether she meant the nudity for the painter or the paintee. Given the rest of the evening’s events, most likely both.

Another round of drinks was ordered and apparently my number was up next. “Why are you so hateful toward your father?” she questioned me directly. I was trying to figure out if she had read too much Sophocles, Freud or both at this point and an interesting discussion ensued with me trying to explain that my dad is actually a great guy and her telling me otherwise. Phil sat quietly in the corner with a idiot grin on his face. Either he didn’t know how to react or was so used to this kind of wackiness that he was unfazed.

Thankfully, it was now time for all the girls to go to the restroom. Phil and I quietly sipped our drinks and exchanged work stories. Good times.

Now Rach isn’t sure how they do things over in the old country but we’re both pretty sure that Evelyn then made a not-terribly-subtle pass at Rach. Unless of course she was trying to lick chocolate off Rach’s neck that had mysteriously appeared during the course of the evening. Or perhaps she was a budding vampiress… or needed salt. In any event, we’ll just call it a practice pass because when she and Rach returned to the table, I was next. At least that’s what the foreign hand on my upper thigh was telling me. A couple more inches and she would be able to tell my religion… or find out I didn’t have a hernia.

It was time for a new bar to see if the crisp, night air would cool the passions of our new companion. It did not. We tried several times to halt the game of sexual-overture-ping-pong without success and as closing-time approached were asked if we wanted to accompany Phil and Evelyn to their apartment for more drinks. Not wanting to spoil the moment (and thinking this might provide the opportunity for a wicked dodge), we agreed and headed back outside.

Shortly after departing the bar, a young man came towards us and Evelyn grabbed him by his jacket and attempted to shove her tongue as far down his throat as humanly possible. He didn’t seem to mind too much and gleefully returned the favor. Awkward looks were exchanged and after a short pause, Gentleman Action Stu kicked and gently tried to pry the two new friends apart. “Back off, homeboy,” came the lad’s sharp retort to my efforts. Apparently, this briefest of pauses was enough for Phil’s highly honed boyfriend skills to kick in and he was able to extract Evelyn from the stranger’s embrace.

“So… I think we’ll call it a night,” I quickly stated with an eager nod from Rach. “It’s getting late.” Objections rang forth from the Evelyn/Phil camp but we were adament that we needed to get home and Rach assured them that we would get together again, SOON, with all the sincerity of Kathy with a “K” saying “We’ll have lunch, soon!” too the departing Temp in a Kids in the Hall sketch. We exchanged hugs and were quickly on our way.

This is one of those evenings that you pretend never happened upon next seeing your workmate. Or, if your job is expendable enough, you may never even go back to work at all. But two weeks later, Phil actually invited us out again. We respectfully declined, citing a prior engagement.



So if you have invited us out for a couples’ evening, or are planning to, keep in mind that this all comes flooding back into our consciousness upon hearing the offer and we are immediately terrified. Our couples’ night PTSD kicks in and we dive for cover under the nearest coffee table.