Spooning

In my circle of friends, there are those who are, what we call “party animals.” Not only do they enjoy attending parties, they thrive on hosting them. Very often, there is no reason for a get-together. However, we’ll get an email stating, “We’re having a few people over, join us!” After the notation for the date and time, there will be the usual: “Reply only if you’re not coming – but we’re hoping you will attend. It’ll be fun.”

While there are a few of us who will host annual Christmas parties, others will opt for New Year Eve. We have had Derby Day parties, Easter Sunday brunches, St. Patrick’s Day parties, and let’s not forget our Halloween parties. For those infamous parties on October 31, our host and hostess insist we come in costume. Just about any holiday imaginable, is party day for my friends.

Even though we live within a few blocks of each other and see each other regularly, our parties are always spectacular. Very often, games are played. We have a trivia game for Derby Day. Each correct answer moves you up one spot. Whoever reaches the goal post first, wins the game. Our hosts always have a restaurant gift card ready for the winner.

One of our hostesses had seen a game that she though was interesting and fun. She’d toss a very large vinyl square in the air towards the crowd. The square was red and painted to look like half of a pair of dice. The idea of the game was to try and catch the die, quickly kneel, and show your number. All this while preventing another player from stealing your catch. Once you were kneeling, the host (or hostess) would verify your number and you’d move up accordingly. We played that game for a few years until one husband, so eager to catch the die, lunged for it, slipped, and crashed into a nearby table knocking to the floor, a lamp that shattered in a million small pieces.

After that night, we opted for another trivia game.

True, there were times, when we didn’t have games at all. We’d sit, eat, and drink while telling stories of past events in the neighborhood before all of us became residents. At times, we’d talk about the latest construction in town, or perhaps a new home being built near one of us. The guys liked to talk about fishing. The women would talk about everything and anything else.

On occasion, we could hear one of the husband’s start a conversation regarding something his wife did that he found funny. Then, another husband would say, “If you think that’s funny, listen to what Joan did the other day.”

Of course, they’d never recalled their blunders! Heaven forbid!

While I knew my tale could embarrass me, it would also put the spotlight on my husband, and hopefully, he’d not relate any other stories concerning me or my klutziness.

I began, “Hey, hon, speaking of embarrassing moments.” He looked at me not sure if he wanted to hear what I was about to say, but I was encouraged by the crowd. “What?” “What did he do?” One of my female friends asked, “What did you do now?”

Then I told my tale.

“I know some of you weren’t here six years ago, but again, some of you were, and will probably remember Mary’s party.”

The crowd looked at each other wondering what tale I had to tell.

“Mary, I know you’ll remember. You had a St. Patrick’s Day Party. To amuse your guests, you decided to play a game. Remember?”

Mary and her husband, Frank, looked at me in a strange way as if trying to glean a hint from the look on my face as to what game I had in mind. Their faces were blanks. They didn’t remember.

This is what I told our crowd of friends:

“Mary and Frank, as I said, hosted a St. Patrick’s Day party. Mary was afraid her party might slip into a dull lull, so to keep her party lively, she decided we should play a game. She lined up the couples, face to face, in the living room. The wives were on one side: the husbands on the other.”

The look on Mary’s face told me that, yes, now, she remembered. I continued.

“Mary handed each husband a spoon wrapped in a thin rope with the long tail of rope dragging behind.

The idea was for the husband to drop the spoon down the blouse of his wife, and she in turn, would pull it up under her husband’s shirt. We’d repeat this until we reached the end of the rope, thus tying the spouses together, until there was no rope left to pull.

What made this a bit more awkward was that the spoons were light plastic which didn’t slide down too easily. Often, the husbands would have to reach under the blouses of their partners and try to grab the spoon to pull it down. The wives would, in turn, reach down their husbands’ shirts and grab the spoon pulling it up and out.

However, each time the spoon and rope passed down the tops, the width of the rope loops thickened and made it more difficult to get the spoon for the next round.

Now, here’s the thing about my husband. He is without a doubt, whole-heartedly competitive. We even make bets who’ll catch the biggest fish when we go out on the boat. He doesn’t sulk or get annoyed if I win, but he gives our contest his all.

Same with this or any other game he plays.

As the coils or rope grew in number, my blouse started to become tighter, making the next round even more difficult.

Because of his enthusiasm, we were winning. I’d no sooner hand him the spoon, and he’d be yanking the top of my blouse to try and stretch it, while dropping the spoon, hoping there was enough room for it to pass down and reach the bottom of the blouse.

Whew! It went through, once again.

Next round! I was able to pull it up and out of his shirt. He grabbed the spoon out of my hands and, again, yanked at my blouse while quickly, pushing his other hand under it.

Someone yelled, “Hey, so far, it’s neck and neck between Rich and Donnie, and Andy and Jan.

That’s all Rich had to hear.

He was now in frenzy mode. I fed the spoon under his shirt and then, before I could blink an eye, he grabbed the spoon out of my hands, grabbed the top of my blouse, dropped the spoon, then lifted my blouse to find the spoon and pull it through. Keep in mind, I said lifted and I don’t mean just a slight bit. He had the bottom of my blouse as high as my chin!

As he pulled my blouse upward with one hand, he jammed his other up the front and groped until he found that stupid little white object.

His face was red with enthusiasm and anxiety. I was in shock because now, I stood there in front of our friends half naked. Okay, so I on my bra but still!

Our friend, Jim, yelled, “Hey, Rich, stop groping your wife and get a room!”

It was a that point, Rich held up his hand with the spoon in it.

I stood there with my face redder than a beet, and all my husband could say was, “Did we win?”

Everyone cheered and agreed we had, indeed won.

I looked at Mary and asked, “With all this, what did we win?”

To which, she answered, “Oh honey, there are no prizes. This was just for fun.”

Fun? My husband, with his need to win, never thought that his speedy and unthinkable actions would embarrass me as much as it did.

I yanked my shirt down, grabbed the spoon and started unlooping the rope that held us together.

Mary’s husband, Frank, walked over trying to decide whether to laugh or offer my sympathy. As he handed me a very cold beer, said, “You look like you could use this.”

I was tempted to dump it on my husband’s head but logic (thankfully someone in our marriage has some) told me I might ruin Mary’s carpet.

I placed my glass of really cold beer on the table and rather than taking the time to completely unloop the rope, since my pride was already out the window, I unbuttoned my blouse and let the rope fall to the floor.

I quickly buttoned my blouse, picked up my beer and with my red face, walked to my female friends and sat down. That’s when we all had a huge laugh.