Chapter 4: Buddy and the Vaseline
Her mother used to slather it on her mouth before bed because she had perpetually cracked lips. Adulthood and lipstick had not remedied the problem. Except now, lipstick AND Vaseline seemed to be a good combination. In her rush to meet Buddy for lunch she forgot her Perfectly Pink lipstick on the bathroom counter. Bugger. But thank goodness she had her day purse where she kept an extra lipstick. Damn it…nope—it was in her evening bag. Well, the emergency Vaseline (compact purse size) would have to do. Buddy may think Vaseline in her day purse was a little weird. Didn’t matter. She had just enough time to get her lips ready—not too much “Vasel” nor too much “-line”.
It was there 3rd date—a lunch date. Do people still think that sex was imminent after the 3rd date? If so, the countdown to the sex talk had begun. Come to think of it: did a lunch date count? If yes, maybe the compact purse size Vaseline would see more action.
For the moment it was a beautiful day although the server was a little too friendly. The server’s winter softball championship in Orange County was not interesting. The strategically placed table on the patio that she chose would allow her to see him walk in—she loved the way he walked with just enough swagger to be confident without seeming arrogant. He didn't disappoint.
“Hey there”, she said. “Did you have trouble parking?”
“No; just parked downstairs hoping you would too. “That way”, he whispered slyly, “we might steal a few extra kissing minutes before heading back to work!” He plants a big kiss on her Vaseline refurbished mouth. Nice.
While they waited for the loquacious softball server he asked, “Would you be free for dinner this Saturday? I’m cooking outside.”
There is was: the dreaded “sex” question couched in something grilled. It was 80 degrees a she sat there but it seemed to get cold all of a sudden.
“Sure,” she said with trepidation, not wanting him to see her discomfort and excitement. “What will you be making?”
“Grilled prime ribs with Brussel sprouts and garlic potatoes”. She figured garlic potatoes may mean sex was off the table. Well, I guess they’d be garlicy together. He went on with the menu, “I remember you drink red wine so I’ll have that as well.”
Never mind the menu. What is the sex protocol? Was it too early to have sex with this man? Did she need to wait the requisite 3 dates—wait—that would be the third date. Yikes. This was huge. What does one wear to a 3rd and potentially sex-filled date? Vaseline and lipstick would definitely factor in. There really needs to be some sort of protocol…