Thursday night after Community Group, a few of us still hanging around chatting determined that there was little in the way of plans made for the weekend.
We decided to go to a restaurant called Bolsa in the Bishop Arts District, a decidedly up-and-coming, hipster-ish neighborhood in South Dallas. A party of nine (eight girls, one RM), we waited on the inside part of the restaurant near the bar, drinking peach sangria and chatting while we waited for our table. We weren't seated until nearly 10 p.m., and by then everyone on the patio near us had been there, drinking, for quite a while.
After ordering salads and flatbreads, we settled in and my friends CC and KR quickly spotted an amorous couple at the outdoor bar, of which I had full view. The couple fell into the "older than our parents" range; both probably about 60 but dressed much younger. The canoodling started, some whispering of (probably not sweet) nothings, some neck-nuzzling; nothing you would ever in a million years want to see your parents doing but still relatively harmless. They had clearly been drinking for some time and then started kissing and getting hands-y.
Our entire table became their captive audience at this point, in disbelief of the scene unfolding, and the table next to us of couples in their early thirties started pointing and commenting on the behavior as well. The man made every woman looking cringe, as he started in on the woman's lower back, sliding his hand under her shirt and grabbing her love-handles. Jaws dropped as we saw him lean back, slide his hand up the back of her shirt, unfasten her strapless black bra and hand it to her. Wide-eyed, we all gave each other a "that just happened" look. Goodness knows they were in no condition to drive, but soon after the bra was taken off, they left. Maybe they finally ascertained that there was only so far they could go in public, who knows? I think it's great that couples stay in love after years together, keeping the romance alive and whatnot, but there are limits to how much of that love the general public should have to see on a Friday night.
They disappeared and were replaced by a group of younger folks, probably about 10 years older than us, who gladly claimed their seats. Also a bit of a spectacle, one of the couples established early on that they would be the lovebirds to watch. The girl clearly thought she was the greatest thing since sliced bread in a white backless sundress that had laces creating geometric shapes all over her back and tall heels. Her boyfriend, equally starved for attention, had on a white, tuxedo looking shirt with ruffles all down the front, a bracelet, too-tight jeans and snakeskin loafers, and they picked up where the other couple had left off.
Bolsa must be Spanish for frisky.
Saturday afternoon I went to the Mavericks vs. Nuggets play-off game in Dallas (we were robbed on that last foul call, for the record) with CC. The couple next to us, our parents age, were drinking copious amounts of alcohol and got progressively more obnoxious as the game went on. CC eventually moved her Diet Coke down between our seats, citing the reason that the man was taking up too much space and she was having to reach between his legs to get to her cup-holder. I thought it was funny; she not so much.
A close runner-up for Most Awkward Person to Watch behind bra-remover-old-enough-to-be-a-grandpa, was a guy sitting in front of us during the game. The seats directly in front of us were occupied by two girls, very done up and cute, probably 18 or 19, eating processed cheese and candy in such a way as led me to believe they haven't had to worry about the concept of a metabolism yet. They had empty seats on either side of them, kept checking their phones and looking around, and so it looked like they may have been stood-up.
A guy many years older than them and a few seats down, who had not spoken to them the entire time, handed his phone to another guy near him to take a picture of him with the two dateless girls sitting on his row, to send to his buddies. *Possible text sent with photo:* Dude, look at these two hotties! I am awesome! This happened during the third quarter, meaning he sat by them, not saying another word to them, mind you, for the duration of the game. Over a shared bucket of popcorn, CC and I could only wonder what he was thinking, and through our shared musings, after all the events of the weekend that had transpired, she said, and I agreed:
Why can't other people get embarrassed for themselves? Why do I have to feel embarrassed for them?
Peter Bretter: You can't be so casual about this! This isn't Europe, okay? There are rules here!
- Forgetting Sarah Marshall, 2008