This blog isn’t just for you ladies. In fact, if I had to start pointing fingers, I’d say the men are the primary initiators here, but still it’s something, everyone needs to think about:
I have two nephews that are currently playing football. Occasionally my sister will ask that I pick them up from practice, which I generally don’t mind doing. Of course she also asks me to pick up my niece at noon on Thursdays and I’ve come to realize I’m starting to get the look of a glorified errand boy. I love kids, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that when all else fails (which it does about four times a week), good ole Uncle D is always the one to bail out the troops and I’m beginning to feel a little…. Used.
But once again I digress.
Seriously, I do love the kids. So it’s no big deal (I wrote that for them in case they ever stumble on this blog).
Recently, I went to pick up my two nephews from their practice. I decided to go a little early and see how things were going. They’re both terrific athletes and I thoroughly enjoy seeing them on the field. Anyway, I pull up, (top down) into the parking lot that faces the fields. In one corner the cheerleaders are practicing. And throughout this massive field, some six or seven youth teams (ages 6-14) are doing likewise. I mention their ages, because this is an integral part to the story.
There are parents everywhere, as usual. From my vantage point I realize that I can see the kids from the car, which is perfect, and I also have a pretty clear view of….
… This man’s hand down the back of this woman’s pants.
That’s no big deal. Hell I’ve grabbed my share of ass in broad daylight at some of the most peculiar moments, but I couldn’t help but think, damn, they’re at practice.
We’re talking about practice.
Like where little kids are running around at any given moment and the sanctity of childhood is supposed to be protected from the rest of the outside world.
To be clear, he wasn’t just resting his hand just below her beltline. He might have been going “where few have gone.”
They’re dead in the center of my view so I can’t help but watch. After he gropes her a few times, she returns the favor, all while occasionally stopping to clap for their 8 year-old son who is out on the field.
“Hey honey can you grab my ass some more. I don’t think enough of the kids saw us the first time.”
“Come here sweetie and let me lay my head on your breast.”
Surely their conversation must have gone something like that, because it wasn’t long before she was doing him a favor or two. It’s great to see two people in love, but honestly some things are better left in the confines of your home. These two continued their groping and fondling, occasionally, engaging in full on tongue action (all while standing up) throughout much of the practice.
I may have some voyeuristic tendencies but I found myself shifting uncomfortably. They weren’t an old couple who were too senile to remember where they were, but they weren’t like two teenagers either. I’m guessing she was in her late 30’s and he was somewhere in the 40 ish range. By the time it was said and done, I had seen her entire thong and butt cheeks, kind of felt a sense of knowing this woman. At least I could probably identify her from a police line-up if it was strictly ass shots.
Like I said it wasn’t the actual PDA that bothered me, it was more so where it was taking place. These two had no regard for the children around, and frankly seemed to lack the class to really care. The whole incident got me thinking about my own PDA. I don’t mind kissing in public. I’m sure I’ve offended some people with some of my other antics (still take my trash out at night in my t-shirt sans my underwear), but I think I’ve always stopped to consider where I might be when PDA walks into the picture.
For the record, the naked trash thing is done super late at night and directly in front of my house.
And it’s not PDA.
When practice finally ended I considered asking them if they needed some bucks for a room, but decided it would only call more attention to an already unnecessary situation. I watched closely as moms and dads avoided the two of them like the plague. When their son (who happens to be on my nephews’ team) finally came up, the man politely removed his hand from the woman’s pants and they all walked to their car. It was clear that they were completely unaware of the attention that they had received.
As my nephews finally made it to the car, kicking their cleats on the floor and sending mud everywhere, I knew I had just witnessed something that would probably change me forever. Hugs often begin innocently enough but we all know, they’re normally just a precursor to more. Kissing (with tongues securely in mouths) and hand holding are fine in public, but for the sake of the rest of the world, it should stop right there.
Because everyone’s idea of appropriate PDA will never be the same.