Thanks to the party we attended last night, I’m in hot water with the Mrs. again. She’s in an accusing frame of mind. Though I’m innocent of all charges, even I admit my explanations seem hard to swallow.
We got invited to the affair Thursday night. At the bar of a local eatery, we met a nice couple who live in an upscale subdivision in our area. The four of us chatted for a bit, and then Sophia excused herself to take a business call. That’s when Bill and Samantha asked me if we’d ever been to an adults-only party and, if so, whether we’d like to attend one at their house Saturday night? Since the wife and I have attended many a party without kids, I truthfully assured them of our experience. Immediately thinking networking opportunity, I told them we’d be delighted to participate in their soiree. I asked what we could bring, and learned there’d be a theme: head coverings. Specifically, Samantha told me everyone would bring their own “party hats.” Before leaving, they gave me their address, adding that I’d recognize the house from some sort of fruit pennant flying on their front lawn.
I wore a snazzy black fedora to the party, while Sophia sported a red bowler. Oddly, after Bill invited us in, he led us through a beautifully furnished family room and kitchen straight down to the basement. I expected to find a fully-finished space, and I did — sort of. As anticipated, typical elements abounded: paneled walls, carpeted floor, drop-down ceiling, bathroom, couches, wet bar, big screen TV, and stereo system. But there also were a number of surprising extras, including a small stage containing a genuine stripper pole, and an entire wall partitioned into multiple cubicles separated by curtains. And each cubicle held a mattress!
Needless to say, we didn’t spot anyone else wearing a hat. But we didn’t need the lack of headgear to recognize the party’s theme as something else entirely. If the curious furnishings hadn’t sufficiently tipped us off, the couples vanishing into the cubicles and the noises emanating from those enclosures certainly did.
Sophia’s convinced I intentionally brought her to a swinger’s party in hopes she’d agree to participate. In truth, I’m guilty only of excessive gullibility and naivety. She finds my protests wanting, however, and I can hardly blame her. Even I have to concede the damning implications of Bill’s responses when she asked why he’d thought we’d be interested in a swinger’s party:
First, we invited Richard to an ‘adult social’ which, as everyone knows, means a swinger’s party. Just to be sure, we asked him if you guys had been to them before, and he said ‘plenty of times.’
Second, we told him everyone brings their own condoms. Why carry prophylactics to a party if you don’t plan to use them?
And finally, we said to look for the pineapple flag in our yard. The pineapple’s the swinger’s welcome signal, and Richard gave us the thumbs up sign like he knew it.