There's not a whole lot that's more embarrassing and compromising than having your ex-wife's new boyfriend walk in on you while you're strutting around in their bedroom wearing her lingerie and vamping it up to Sex Bomb.
Take it from me: It's hard to come back from that, especially if said boyfriend is there with a couple of his Hell's Angels friends. And especially, especially if you cover up your naughty parts like a 1920s pinup girl and--God help me--blush.
I wasn't supposed to be there, of course. She got the house. Hell, she got everything. Plus there's that whole restraining order thing, but I always saw that as more of a suggestion than anything else. Besides, when you're "between jobs" like I am, you gotta find ways to fill the time. And what could be better than a little low grade B & E at your ex-wife's place?
What could be better? Hell, just about anything.
Fucking Hell's Angels, dude. Man those fucking guys are scary! How my ex-wife ended up with one is a question for another time. For now, suffice it say it was quite a situation. We all just stand there looking at each other for, like, hours. Meanwhile, Tom Jones is still blaring in the background and when the song (finally) ends, what do I do? I look at the guys and I'm like, "Fancy a shag?"
FYI: Not the best ice breaker in the world if you're ever in the same situation yourself.
The dudes just stare at me, and I'm like, "Austin Powers? Anyone?" And they just keep staring, possibly because they never actually say those words in that particular order in Austin Powers and so they were confused, but more likely because, Holy Christ, get a load of this freak!
And seriously, the silence just goes on and on until all of a sudden, one of the bikers is like, "Shit, hold on." And he reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a digital camera and starts snapping shots of me. Then they all take turns getting into shots with me. THEN they start making me do all these poses.
(By the way, for the record, if you ever see any of them on the Internet, there's no penetration in the shots of me with the feather duster. I'm just pinching it there, scout's honor.)
Anyway, after about 20 minutes or so of them putting me in poses and laughing their asses off, I start wondering why I was so quick to go along with their little photo shoot. I mean, they never actually threatened me. But they're bikers! I just figured the threat was assumed.
But yeah, after a while I'm like, This is bullshit. I'm done. And they're totally cool about it. I mean, yeah, they razzed me and shit, but whatevs.
Anyway, the cool part is the one who's banging (the shit out of) my ex-wife didn't even seem that bent out of shape that he'd caught me in their bedroom in his girlfriend's undies. Undies, by the way, that I don't remember her owning when we were together. You see, she was never the kind of woman who would splurge on that kind of fancy schmancy lingerie for herself. And God knows I wasn't going to shell out for it, either, so I have to assume this was the guy (sucker?) who bought it.
So yeah, on the one hand it was pretty damn embarrassing and all to be caught like that, but then again at least I'm not some jackass bankrolling lingerie fashion shows starring my girlfriend's ex-husband.
I count that as a moral victory.
Me: 1. Hell's Angels: 0
Who's laughing now, biker boy?
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