They weren’t all bad: part 2

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Yesterday I started to tell you all about Head Bouncer, a guy I dated earlier in life. CLick here to read that post.

Now to continue…

Feeling a little naughty and heady, I decided to test this mysterious power and sauntered into a seaside restaurant that was closed between the lunch and dinner hours.  It was now about 3:30 and the place would  re-open for happy hour at 4:30pm.  I asked if I could just sit out on the patio and refresh with a glass of soda water.  The waiter, whom I had never seen before, smiled in recognition.

“Sure,” he said.

But he could have just been responding to me as any young fairly pretty woman so I pushed further.

“I think I would also like some steamed shrimp,” I said.

He smiled bigger.

“The kitchen is closed but for Head B’s girlfriend, I am sure it is not a problem.”

He sprinted off to the kitchen and when he returned with my drink, he asked if there was anything else I would like in addition to the shrimp.  The chef steamed a heaping plate of shrimp just for me and they refused to be paid.  “Your money is no good here,” the waiter explained.

A week or so went by and all the other cocktail waitresses were getting dates by the score while night after night no one asked me out.

One night, in exasperation, I asked my housemate’s date why no one would ask me out.

“Well,” he said, “because HB has decided you will be his girlfriend and no one wants to piss him off.”

So this is how I started dating the HB. It was he or no one. Besides, he was good looking, had an intoxicating smile, from a wealthy family and sweet as any one I have ever met. And it was kind of fun knowing that no one was going to mess with me in this rather seedy place.

It turned out to be great fun as well.  He had a warm heart and was devoted to pleasing me. People were terrified of him because he was so huge but he really wouldn’t hurt a fly unless necessary.  He was a football player and was training all summer so he was ripped.  In fact he had less than 3% body fat.  His hands were so large compared to me (I am 5’4″ and weighed about 125lbs at the time)  and he was so strong that I could actually sit in the palm of his hand and he could lift me up over his head and hold me there with little effort.

He wined and dined me constantly and bought me little gifts almost every other day. And when I got sick enough to go to the ER.  He took me and arranged for me to stay at his parent’s gorgeous gigantic condo to recuperate At the end of the summer he asked me to marry him so I could go with him to wherever he was going to play football.  He was just so sweet.  But sadly, Superman had the intellectual capabilities of a fruit fly. He knew it  too and tried to be a better match for me by writing poetry  and accompanying me to foreign films that he could not fathom.  But wanting more of a mind match, I refused him.  He graciously accepted my rejection and helped me move into a third floor apartment by singlehandedly carrying all of my furniture up the stairs himself – without any help. We are talking full sized sofa, filled chest of drawers and everything.

My father adored him. My mother nicknamed him Superman.

One of the best stories concerning HB was the night some pro-football player came into the bar with a posse of other big guys. (The other really good HB story is the night I met his mother and ate dinner at their house.  I often refer to that night as dining in the land of the giants- but that is another story).  I was waiting on them along with 350 other people (not exaggerating) and their table was right next to the bar.  They were getting fairly rude as the night went on and at one point Mr. Pro Football said something really rude to me and I told him to “F— off.” He threw doused me with his glass of beer as he yelled, “You can’t treat me like that!  I am Mr. Pro Football Player and I  know (insert bar manager’s name here then insert a string of curse words with “Bitch” added at the end).  In a rare moment of calm under fire.  I smiled sweetly and said without a hint of irony, “Of course your do.  I am so sorry for being so rude.  You deserve better service.  I will be right back with a pitcher for you on the house.”

Mr. PF sat down, placated.  I went straight to HB and told him what happened.  He smiled his most heart warming adorable smile.  Enveloping  me in his gargantuan arms he said, “Don’t worry darlin’. Give me a minute and when I tell you, go take him his pitcher and pour it right on his head.”

Knowing I was in good hands I did as I was told.  I took a round of canned beers for his buddies which I distributed first as HB and five other bouncers (all beefed up on steroids) surreptitiously encircled the group.  Once everyone was set, HB behind Mr. PF, I turned towards Mr. PF and said, “I just wanted you to know that I am friends with the manager too.”  as I dumped an entire glass pitcher of beer on his head.

Mr. PF jumped to his feet, furious and drenched in sticky cold beer. HB grabbed him in a choke position from behind.  The other bouncers moved in to create a wall of braun  between Mr. PF and his buddies who all backed down like beaten dogs.  HB told Mr. PF that he should never come back to the bar, choked Mr. PF until he passed out and tossed him down the flight of stairs that led to the street Mr. PF’s posse following his tumbling body running so fast that one slipped and slid on his ass halfway down the stairs himself.  A crowd gathered around Mr. PF’s limp body on the sidewalk and as he came to he experienced the ultimate in humiliation as someone recognized him and the crowd burst out laughing that a local boy whooped him.

He never returned and things went right back to normal in the bar.  I worked the remainder of the night, sticky and smelling like a brewery but understanding something of Lois Lane and Polly Purebred and any other woman who has had the guilty pleasure of  having a hulk of a man defend them in the most primal of ways.

It was a fun fling but I turned down HB’s marriage proposal  at the end of the summer because I thought a good life mate for me would be someone who was a bit better matched intellectually and because I am not into football – which was his life.  I still think about HB sometimes, though.  How utterly beautiful he was so utterly beautiful, how sweet and endearing. How safe I felt when I was with him and how simple life was with such an uncomplicated man.  What a great guy.

Hope he is happy, prosperous  and in good health.

Did you ever pass up on someone who was perfectly wonderful but simply not right for you?

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