There's something magical about a budding new relationship. Some people can go their entire life and not ever experience it. Some people can loose an entire afternoon reminiscing back to their lost days of love. Often, people long for the addiction of a new love's flame. They toss from relationship to relationship hoping to never let that feeling disappear.
In Billings, things are a bit different.
We were out enjoying a perfect evening out. Leisurely cruising the town, windows rolled down, the cool autumn air licking through our hair. Nothing could have been better. The town was mostly empty, as the hot summer nights have diminished, and people were starting to get that cramped-up feeling shunning the out doors.
We headed for our favorite burger joint, finding it mostly unoccupied. We sat, ordered, and quietly conversed over our winter plans, and summer memories. I laughingly pointed out the irony in the May-December romantics sitting at a table not far from ours. The gentleman, an apparently life-loving man of 50, was enjoying the company of a younger 30ish woman. They were obviously not father and daughter, and obviously in the blossoming stages of a new relationship. I could almost see the pain in their eyes when they were forced to not be able to touch each other.
They had finished their meals, and each was exuberant about their own particular drinks. His, a salty American Pilsner. Hers, a dry red wine. After enjoying the aroma of their lust in the air, I noticed something a bit odd start to happen. Maybe I was intoxicated by their love, her wine, his beer, or maybe I was a bit too dehydrated, and I hadn't been keenly aware of it. Their now loud conversation had turned to discussing foot miladies. I tried to recall a time in my life when I thought that discussing any medical condition with a new friend of the opposite sex was a good idea. I came up with none.
But, before I was fully aware of what was happening, I heard a decisive thud from their table. I looked over to see that he had placed his shooed foot on the table. With exuberance. With authority. They studied his foot as he tried to pin point exactly where some injury had taken place. He quickly found that he could not accurately describe the point of the pain, so off the shoe flew to the floor, where it was only stationary a moment before the mating sock came fluttering to the ground next to it.
There it was, a bright, non-sun-spoiled foot, stretching out in all its pale glory. He bent his toes to rest on edge of his beer mug, and in his proficiency to display his foot, he almost spilled her wine. I expected a bleating chorus of laughter to erupt from somewhere. I hoped that somebody would find this amusing. I found, however, that they were not laughing. They were dryly serious. They studied some injury to his foot where it rested right there on the table.
I looked around us. Even though it was a touch on the late side (almost 8:45 which is actually late in Billings), there were, at least a few other people present to observe this behavior. To my astonishment, not a single person seemed to be as offended by this display as we were. We looked into each other's eyes, and stifled a laugh or two.
They enjoyed each other's company for at least a dozen more minutes. Half of that time, he remained shoe and sock less. Much of that time, his foot remained on the table. Yet, nobody seemed to notice or care, and I suddenly became vary aware of how dirty my own table was. He even went on to finish his toe-flavored beer.
What's this? A sudden hot ping of an upset stomach?
Thus, I assume, is the courtship of the established Billings elite. Men: if you want to win the woman, show her your bare toes in public.