So there we were, waiting in line at a little country ice cream store on vacation in Cook Forest, Pennsylvania. Ahead of us was a twentysomething guy with his twentysomething girlfriend and a veritable army of nephews and nieces.
"What can we order, Unlce Adam?"
"Anything you want," Uncle Adam heroically replied, as he slid his hand down his girlfriend's back until it rested solidly on her, um, rear. Lisa and I exchanged embarrassed glances as he proceeded to rub, massage, pinch, and shake. More shocking still was his girlfriend's total lack of response or embarrassment. My suspicion that she had some sort of neurological disorder precluding her from any sort of sensation below the waist was cast into doubt when she reciprocated.
We placed our orders, paid the cashier, and enjoyed our treats on a park bench next to the ice cream store.
Between licks, I was astonished to look up and see another couple engaging in overt bottom grabbing. This time it was a thirtysomething lady with her (by my estimation) fortysomething companion. Her actions were not so intense: she rubbed gently, grabbed, and held while their orders were placed.
We had just about had our fill of shock and awe amusement, so we finished our ice cream in the car. A sixtiesish couple approached the window to order. I looked at Lisa. She looked at me. We agreed that this couple would break the streak of tushy touchers. I put the car in reverse and began to back out when, what to our incredulous eyes should appear, but a sixtiesish female hand caressing a sixtiesish male buttock.
"Ooooooh!" I inadvertently cheered in my outside-voice, our windows down.
"Go go go!" Lisa commanded, embarrassed by my exclamation. I peeled out of the parking lot as the publicly affectionate couple turned their heads to see what was the matter.
Must be something in the ice cream.
Originally Posted: Tuesday, July 9, 2007
(Then) Curent Mood: awake