Talking Dirty with the Class of 87

"Sex is not a time to chat. In fact, it's one of the few instances in my overly articulated, exceedingly verbal life where it is perfectly appropriate -- if not preferable -- to shut up. And now suddenly I have to worry about being stumped for conversation? -- no thank you."

--Miranda, Sex & the City

I don't know why it always surprises people that I am not much one for talking dirty. It's just one of those things -- like say, spandex, or smoking weed -- for which I never really cultivated a taste. I don't judge. I'm happy to observe, or listen. In fact, I experimented with both, a little, in college, and that's how I found out they gave me panic attacks.

I'm admittedly an avid sexter (it's an especially viable port in a storm when travel -- or even traffic -- is proving to be an intrusive interruption to Real Life, which should be at least 50 percent Naked Time, more if you can manage it and still hold down a job).  But in person, sometimes I just want a little peace and quiet. While I never mean to be terse,  I'm sure I have Ex-es who expected to turn around and see house counsel, taking notes and whispering advice, from the corner. I tend to give Yes and No answers. I don't embellish. I'd rather over-deliver than over-promise.

Plus, I really don't hear that well (too many years as a music critic) and I have killed many a mood asking for clarification when clearly none was needed ("you want to do what? Where?... Ohhhhh! OK. Sure." Carry on.)

Because I did go to such an achingly conservative white-bread college, it still surprises me when my BidDay RingToss Classmate is so shockingly ... forthright. (The Donut Columns are all his, for example.) The one thing that always pops into my head is "you talked to Professor Hazelrigg with that mouth?"  (Although I didn't really know him in school, we had a scathing word for guys like him: Athlete.) Linda still laughs when I compare his six-pack abs to an ocean view, but I'm not kidding: after a few weeks, you really do not notice it.

People (and by people, I mean reps from our shared alumni association who occasionally stumble into us drinking-for-charity) always want to know why we haven't eloped.

I suspect that is not out of any regard for our mutual well-being or faith in our compatibility (which is admittedly, painfully minimal -- although thank heavens, we are both dog people). It is more because there is nothing, and I mean, nothing they enjoy more than pairing up alumni couples in the alumni magazine in reciprocal boldface. Non-Alums are forever consigned to regular type, no bold; they might even turn up in all-lower-case letters like e.e. cummings. Sigh. I do love the boldface. I'm a font girl.