Things are shakin' in my little corner of rural casino hell. With the arrival of spring also comes several new restaurants to try, as the casinos are constantly evolving to keep patrons fresh and interesting, and a truck stop is also putting in a Taco Bell.
You cannot know how excited I am for a Taco Bell. I may need to change clothes.
Friday night, Justin and I decided to support the local industry by taking our date night to the new Italian restaurant in town. They refashioned a corner of one of the casinos from a poker room, into a high end steakhouse, then downgraded to noodles. They upgraded the decor though. The flat screen televisions above each booth used to display sea life when filet mignon was on the menu but now they display quaint European scenes while you eat your ravioli. I much prefer looking at Venice than looking at a grouper who is looking right back at you.
When not looking at our televisions we had a good view of the couple across the aisle who were busily groping each other throughout the whole meal.
Before we were even seated we got a show from those two. They spent several minutes off to the side of the hostess' podium testing each other's tongues for strength and agility. We asked the hostess how long they'd been there, drooling on one another, and she told us that she didn't know. She'd tuned them out for the sake of her health.
During dinner they put there hands up into each other's shirts and down into each other's laps.
How do we know they love each other? Because when you are 21, public displays of affection confirm it just as much as pinning giant foil hearts to your chests.
It's been confirmed that both Justin and I are now considered to old to salivate over each other in restaurants, or movie theaters, or parked in a car in front of the movie theater or parked in a car in front of the Walmart or parked in a car behind the car wash really really late at night. Our days of looking natural doing more than holding hands are over.
Our oldest child will be seventeen in nine days and with children that age, our still clothed sexual expressions are now considered gross. We've aged past putting our hands up each other's shirts and allowing our arousal to cloud our self respect.
What we've aged into is moral clauses on contracts and comfortable elastic waistbands.
I know for a fact the restaurant grouper gropers did not have kids yet. No one who has ever waded through gallons of spit up and wet diapers feels compelled to have foreplay in front of the maitre'd.
They'll conceive eventually. Probably while keeping 75% of their clothing on. It'll all go downhill from there.
Maybe they'll even accomplish conception at the new Taco Bell at the table closest to the restrooms. One can hope.
They can watch me perform PDA's with a bean burrito and some tater tots.
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