The Sanctity of What?

~Rob

So, I'm happily married. But you know that by now, as roughly half of these posts so far are about my wedding. I'm extremely happily married. I love my wife with everything I have, and will readily volunteer that information to every single person I come in contact with. At work, I randomly sigh out loud, and say "Man, I love my wife." No prompting, no context, just love. It's extremely irritating to co-workers, fyi. I routinely drive 500 miles round trip just to spend a few hours with her. No one can doubt my commitment. That is, unless I'm dressed in a Penguin onsie as a part of a bar crawl with some friends. Then apparently I look super ready to mingle. I'm not, but the penguin is a natural aphrodisiac. We began the bar crawl at a very cool taproom, known as Pour. If you want to hear more about Pour, we reviewed it here.

Something you should know about me going forward: I have absolutely no clue if women are hitting on me. Any time it happens, I just think "Wow, this lady is really nice. Maybe she'll like Carissa, too". In retrospect, she probably wouldn't.

So there we all are, dressed in our fuzzy outfits. I go to fetch a beer from one of the many taps, and some lady approaches me and begins talking to me. I think nothing of it, fully concerned with my beer, when my wife approaches. At this point the lady immediately turned away, and I continued about my night, still oblivious. Later, my wife mentioned that the lady had been giving her dirty looks from that point on. This was the last time my marriage would be respected or acknowledged for the rest of the night.

Pictured: Pure Sex

Eventually we make it to a crowded place that does karaoke on weekends. This is where things took a turn for the worst. At one point, I go to the bar to fetch some liquid singing juice. A woman in her mid-40's approaches me and strikes up a conversation. And by conversation, I mean she begins rubbing my chest. No warning, no permission, just a cougar \vigorously rubbing my pecs through my fuzzy penguin pajamas. Taking offense, I tell her that I'm sorry, but I'm married. She keeps rubbing and says "It's okay, I'm not doing anything wrong, right?". FUCKING YES, YOU ARE. BITCH, SWERVE. I move on down the bar.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Maybe he's just overreacting. They weren't possibly as horrid and thirsty as all that." At one point I stopped a girl and, once again, said that sorry, but I have a wife. She responded immediately: "That's fine, I have a boyfriend. Who cares?" DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?! I AM VERY CLEARLY MARRIED AND YOU HAVE A DAMN BOYFRIEND! Seriously, if even I can tell you're hitting on me, you're trying way too hard.

My pajamas of choice have a tail on the back, as penguins do. I'm nothing if not particular about the anatomical accuracy of my jammies. This tail however, quickly became the scourge of my evening. Women felt the need to grab it, pull it, aggressively fondle it, and use it as an excuse to touch my butt. It genuinely made no difference that I literally waved my ring in their face. At one point, I broke all sense of propriety and politeness and told a woman, "Look, my wife is six feet tall and will beat you. Leave me and my tail alone". My threat was hollow but at no point throughout my evening did any of this stop.

What happened to the sanctity of marriage? Are millennials over-sexualizing penguins? I haven't a clue, apparently. What I do know is this: if you plan to wear a penguin onsie out in public, prepare for the repercussions. And more importantly, I know that I believe in marriage. It is still very much real for me, and I don't think it is acceptable to hit on married men or women. And not just that, it isn't
acceptable to aggressively hit on and touch people after they ask you to stop.  I was sexually harassed literally all night and there is a certain amount of humor because I was obviously in zero danger but the lack of respect for another person is disappointing.