Disrespect Me
Over the course of my incarceration, I have been involved in countless relationships; a few of which have led to several of my horribly failed marriages. On the positive side and unlike traditional dating, you really get to know someone in the time it takes to go through the courting process, and the added waiting time between getting a marriage approved and solemnized.
It often takes over a year before you’re able to go to a trailer to consummate your marriage. It’s only then you realize you still have absolutely no idea who this person you’re married to really is. I quickly discovered it’s easy for someone to be on their best behavior sitting in a visiting room surrounded by armed guards. That just covers the women.
After several first dates, so to speak, I often pondered how was it possible I had to go back to my small cage while these insane people were able to walk free among society. In one instance, I vividly remember prior to marrying my fifth and present wife, I was set up on a blind date by an old associate of mine. This happened after wife number four simply disappeared, as though she flew through the Bermuda triangle never to be heard from again.
The morning of my visit, I shaved and put on a new shirt to meet my blind date. A slight case of the jitters in anticipation made the wait seem like forever, but at 9 am on the dot off I go. As protocol dictates, after being frisked the officer in the visit room directs you to your assigned table. This makes life a little easier since I’ve never seen this person before.
I looked towards the table and unlike the shapely redhead I spoke to on the phone and was expecting, it appeared as though her aging mother had taken her place. I walked over and she quickly stood to greet me. She was a short women who was an even five feet tall and as round as she was high. She had short badly dyed hair with a widows peak that somehow gave off an overpowering odor like the pine tree air fresheners that hang from your car mirror.
Attempting to be polite, I introduced myself, gave her a fast hug, and sat down wondering where her daughter was. She casually informed me she had sent me an old picture, but had not changed much. “Uh oh” listen lady, for the record the picture didn’t change but you and your hairline certainly have.
During our exchange of pleasantries, I thought that instead of a prospective trailer mate I could at least have a new pen pal. At that moment, we both glanced at the table next to us where a couple was going at it hot and heavy. The convict clearly had one of his visitor’s breasts out on the table and was twisting her nipple, trying to tune into Z-100 or maybe WBLS, and It was not coming in. Her tongue was deep in his mouth and even from where I was sitting I could hear a slight moan coming from her.
My new pen pal looked over at me and asked why I did not try this with her? Being fast on my feet, I politely responded that I would never disrespect her like that in public. However, she moved at lightening fast speed, so now I really understood why they’re called cougars. She leaped over the table, put her arms around my neck in a chokehold and shoved her tongue down my throat while mumbling, “disrespect me, disrespect me.”
I tried to remove myself from her vise-grip like grasp and pulled my face away from hers in sheer terror. The suction being generated from her mouth was broken – and so was the seal on her top denture, which fell onto the table! “ok you old degenerate” now am I supposed to just sit here as you nonchalantly insert your teeth back in place? I somehow managed to sit there and be a gentleman, but this took self-control and awkwardness to an entire new level.
When the visit ended, I give her a firm handshake as gracefully as I possibly could while keeping my outstretched hand on her shoulder in case she tried to strike again. Then, as you would expect I politely declined any further contact with her.
So the next time you go on a blind date and things are going badly, just picture a flying set of dentures – at least you can chuckle while figuring out if there is a back door.
