Orange You Glad I Didn't Go There?

“I don’t know Deb, my girlfriend doesn’t kiss me anymore for some reason. The sex is okay, but she refuses to give me a long, passionate kiss.” I just listened and started taking bigger bites of my delicious sushi, so that I couldn’t speak clearly. It kind of reminded me of that Twix commercial, where the woman comes out into the living room and asks her husband, “Honey, does this make my butt look big?” And the only thing he could do was cram his mouth with a huge Twix bar, so that he couldn’t answer her. I looked up at Stacy, acknowledging her complaint. I stared at her slightly crooked, yellow hued teeth, wondering if I would kiss that mouth myself.
“Listen, the only thing to do here is to talk to her. Let her know that this bothers you. Take her face, and kiss her. Maybe she is insecure— I don’t know.”
“Deb, she just gives me short kisses, what is that? It’s not like a real kiss.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her mouth again. There was a major hygiene fiasco brewing in there. I didn’t have the heart to explain the possibilities of ‘why’, and I have no right to judge someone’s dental problems.

I poured Stacy another glass of sake, and poured the rest for myself. I saw the waiter shuffling over to our table.
“Ah, sake good! You wanta’ nutha botto?" He says, nodding his head up and down quickly, looking like one of those bouncy dolls in the back of an old beat up Bonneville.
“Yes. Please. Thank you!” I nod my head—almost bowing to him out of respect. He sort of reminded me of a little Chihuahua—cute, tiny and high strung. I bowed my head to let him know I appreciated his service. As if I know the customs of Japan. I’ve never been there. I do know that bowing is a respectful thing. I think? I also found out from my oldest sister who takes business trips to Japan, that you are not supposed to say “what”, or ask Japanese people to repeat themselves here in America if you do not understand them. It is an insult. But, who knows this? I never knew this.

“I giwoo a speso dis onda’ house!” The nice waiter says, while Stacy looked up at him bewildered.
“That’s nice of you, thank you.”
“What the hell did he say?"
Stacy asked.
“I don’t know.” I kept eating, trying not to look up at her, so I wouldn’t laugh. Moments later, he skips over with this wooden palate of fresh oranges sliced up for dessert. Orange Orange
“See? Never ask a Japanese man to repeat himself, or we would have never got this extra dish.” I smile, looked at Stacy as she stared at him.

“Is it normal that I don’t want to go ‘there’.” Stacy said, and she crouched down and spoke in a low tone.
“Go where?”
I said loudly.
Deb. I can’t do ~that~ with her.”
“Ohhh… Really? Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that, umm… She is not well kept.”

I threw my chopsticks down. I lost my appetite. This is a case of TMI. (Too much information) Come on, especially if you are out eating sushi, please, have respect and do not go “THERE”…

“Listen Stacy, everyone has problems in their relationship. Everyone has little gripes about something in their love lives. I guess the only advice that I can give you is to talk to her. Tell her. She probably doesn’t know her cookie looks like a Chia pet.”
We both let out a laugh, and let off this big sigh afterwards---indicating that this conversation was going to be over and done with.


“You know, she doesn’t shave anything hardly.” Stacy goes on to torture me with this lovely topic.
“Anything?” I ask, realizing my eel had little hairs on it (tiny bones). Lost my appetite entirely at this point.
“Yeah, like she just stops after the summer and decides that it’s no longer important to keep up with her grooming in all areas.”
Whenever someone talks about another person I know in that aspect, I can’t help to envision this work of art. Do I want to? Should I? Is it disrespectful to even be listening to all of this?
“Buy her a really good electric trimming shaver, and top-notch razors. She’ll get the hint. In fact, buy her a really good ‘grooming’ kit.” I said.

What else am I supposed to say here?

“This makes you uncomfortable. I can tell. I'm sorry...” She says to me.
“Stacy, if anyone knows me well, I am too open with my life and sexuality, however, when I know someone on a personal level, like your girlfriend, it’s hard for me to digest...literally. It puts pictures in my head. Bad ones. So, next time I see her, I may just call her Chewbacca. Not good.” I start chuckling, so she knows I'm only joking with her.

I wave the jittery waiter over so I can get the check. At this point, I wanted to jet out of there. I’m almost positive that the conservative waspy looking couple sitting behind her heard every word Stacy said. I was mortified.

What are the ‘conversation guidelines’ when sitting in a restaurant where the tables are just way too close together? I felt as though I was being insensitive to my friend’s needs. Even though we’re pretty close friends, I didn’t feel right about this whole topic. I’m friends with both her, and her girlfriend.

The cuisine and conversation did not flow well. Believe me, I talk about the most risqué subject matters, but for the love of God, not over sushi! Sushi