I Like Him, I Like Him Not
Vance and I have been on three dates since our initial hook-up on St. Patrick’s Day. The dates have been mildly interesting … OK, he’s been only mildly interesting. He seems to have a see-saw topic range, bobbing back and forth between his pot-smoking mom and an unusual preoccupation with his penis — bringing it up in casual conversation like it’s his best friend. “It gets hard every time the sunlight directly hits it,” he once unnecessarily told me over a rack of lamb. Then I unnecessarily had to imagine how he manages to go outdoors during the daylight hours without looking like a human sundial.
I know Vance isn’t my “soul mate,” but I’ve given up on the concept and instead have decided to be thankful for those who simply enjoy my company. Plus, sex with Vance is pleasantly memorable once I get passed the initial urge to give his penis a handshake backed with “How you doin’?” (always with a Joey Tribbiani inflection) before each encounter.
So, having given in to Vance’s sexual oddities, I decided several days ago to take our relationship one step farther and invite him on vacation with me, and Jill and Leah — really, who wants to be a third wheel? We were going north to visit Leah’s sister Linda in Idaho Falls for the weekend. “Cool, guys in tight Wranglers are hot,” Vance had said with too much enthusiasm.
On the morning of our departure, Vance and I showered together, and during which, after much prodding, he’d convinced me to manscape him, saying he didn’t like looking like a hippo Chia Pet. I think it gives itself more credit than it deserves.
Thirty minutes later, Jill rang me up, indicating that she and Leah had arrived at my building. We scooped up our luggage and went out the door. After about ninety minutes on the road, and a grueling game of “Animal, Mineral or Vegetable?” (By the way, sheep do not have nipples!), Jill swung her Lexus off the highway into Malad, Idaho, thirteen miles from the Utah/Idaho border. We all hit the Chevron public restrooms, each grabbed a different beverage from the row of coolers that line the back wall of the covenience store and each bought a handful of $2 Cheers-themed lottery tickets — it was important that we all purchased Cheers tickets because Jill had recently been in the actual Cheers bar in Boston, and of course the correlation meant good luck. What a waste of forty bucks! We uncheerily got back in the Lexus and moved on with a “mineral.”
As we entered the Fort Hall Indian reservation, just twenty minutes after Jill easily talked her way out of a speeding ticket from a male cop (even with a boy’s haircut and little breasts!), we decided to stop at the Trading Post for tax-free beer. “This is a dry reservation, Tommy,” Leah pointed out to me as if I had just bitch-slapped Sacagawea. So instead we bought tax-free cigarettes — It suddenly felt like Sacagawea was smiling upon us. We then momentarily considered the casino but thought better of it.
High gusts of wind snaked us the last few miles into Idaho Falls, and as we pulled up to Leah’s sister’s house, I noticed several bales of hay stacked in the front yard, a hand-written cardboard ‘For Sale’ sign perched on one.
“Haayyy!” I exclaimed flamboyantly.
“That’s where you and Vance will be sleeping,” Leah joked.
“Oooo, we’ll have a real roll-in-the-hay tonight,” I smiled at Vance. The direct sunlight through the car window was warming his erect Chia Pet. He slapped it down like it had just jumped up on the couch and swung himself out of the car.
Linda welcomed us at the front door, introduced us to her husband and 18-year-old son (wearing Wrangler jeans that made me a little on edge), and showed us to our rooms where we dropped our luggage.
“What do you want to do first, shopping or cocktails?” She gave us a choice. Cocktails unanimously won out.
The following afternoon, after a long night of playing Perudo and the Seinfeld Trivia Game and having a much-too-late dinner of taco soup, we finally went shopping, each of us feeling the pangs of a hangover. At a locally-owned Western wear store, I tried on a pair of slim, boot-cut Wrangler jeans and Tony Lama distressed cowboy boots. When I exited the dressing room, Vance said I looked like Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain. I was starting to really like this guy. But Jill rolled her eyes. I purchased them anyway.
Later, we barbecued under a clear, crisp night in Linda’s backyard. We sat around a small fire, pit two feet into the ground. We drank, we laughed, and Vance and I held hands nearly the entire night, until Vance’s awkward comment about his mother’s chronic constipation. I felt my face flush hot red. Seriously … have some couth!
I was still feeling embarrassed and angry over the comment when we went to bed. I was about to say something as we crawled into bed when his warm hands started kneading my shoulders. I melted and lay there in a puddle for what seemed like an hour. When he pulled his hands away, I turned to him, kissed him, and said, “Can your best friend come out to play!”