Date Night

The Jazzman picked up a Cleveland Indians Community Appreciation Program package. For $35, you get four free tickets (up to $36 each) and several Buy One - Get One tickets. So last night we went to the ball game!

(I'll skip the whole part about the one-hour rain delay and tornado/thunderstorm watches. We didn't get too wet, and we had a great time.)

We sat in the Field Box, about 20 rows up, just beyond 3rd base—great seats. About forty-five minutes after the game was supposed to start, a couple came in and sat down next to us.

The man was very nice looking, nicely dressed in tan slacks and a black button-front shirt. In his late 50s or early 60s. He was not in Cleveland Indians gear or beat-up running shoes. No baseball cap. No tacky anything. Nothing that didn't bespeak "success".

The woman he was with…. Hmm. How can I put this? She was dressed in jeans, platform sandals, and a knit top with straps and a lot of décolleté. Very blond. She was heavily made-up, and wearing a matching set of necklace, bracelet, and earrings with gray and white crystals. She seemed to be about 55, trying to look 45, but with all the make-up, looking 65. When she stood to go out and get their nachos, she bent over, displaying her hot pink thong. You've got the full picture, right?

Throughout the entire game, their conversation was non-stop. Really. Non-stop. His hand was on her leg, her hand was on his arm. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It was just clear that either this was a first- or early-date for this couple or she was an escort. Of some sort. (This boy was gonna have a lucky night, yaknowhatImean?!)

The Jazzman and I didn't talk so much. I love baseball games and other sporting events for the people-watching opportunities. I go along for the social engagement—I could care less about the sports. But I enjoy myself.

We talk if we have something to say, but we never seem to have to work at making conversation. We're perfectly comfortable just sitting together with our own thoughts. We've been together a year-and-a-half, and we had lapsed into "old married" by about four months into the relationship. We are ultimately comfortable with each other. I'm damned lucky.

Observing this couple going through the non-stop talking, I was reminded of Husband Number 2. He wanted conversation. He was not comfortable with quiet. He wanted conversation all the time, but he didn't want to have to initiate anything. If we were on a car trip, he got very upset if I wanted to read a book. He wanted me to make conversation and keep it up for the entire trip when he was driving.

For someone who grew up in a family that didn't talk, it's hard to make conversation! And for someone to be pressured to initiate and maintain conversation—that's a stressor of the highest order!

I think of men as not-so-talkative. And I think they endure a lot to ensure the happiness or contentment or interest of the women in their lives or the women they're trying to impress.

I, for one, appreciate the effort. But I did feel kinda bad for this man who couldn't just sit and enjoy the game for all the conversation-making that was going on.

My people-watching was very successful.

And the Indians won!!