But My Upstairs Is Vacant

Story Sent in by Rachel:

Frank and I were a blind date set up by an online matchmaking service. We met right outside of a restaurant, and after a first hug in which he pressed his whole self to me, we stepped back from each other, he sighed in what sounded like relief, and said, "You have a perfectly-shaped bubble butt."

"Uh, thanks?" I replied, then said, "Let's not talk about my butt. How was your day?"

The small talk commenced, and we sat down inside the restaurant. It was a noisy Italian place, but I had been there before and the food was good.

At one point, before the food arrived, Frank said, "My boy downstairs is really excited to be here."

"Your boy downstairs? You mean, like, your apartment neighbor?" I had never heard the phrase before, plus it was loud in there, okay?

He grinned. "Yeah. My neighbor."

The food came, we talked about this and that, and then once more, he brought up his "friend."

"After dinner, I should introduce you to my boy downstairs."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"He really wants to meet your Polly Pocket."

Boy downstairs. Got it in a flash. Ugh, gross! I put my fork down and said, "I don't think this is working. You and I."

He looked genuinely shocked and said, "Oh my God, I'm sorry. I was just kidding around. I'm just used to goofing off with my friends, but it was stupid for me to bring any of that up here. I'm sorry. I promise I won't bring it up anymore. Let's just have a nice dinner..."

And so on. He seemed sincere, so I gave him a stern look and went back to my meal.

A moment later, he said, "My boy downstairs loves the way you eat. Maybe he'll knock on your back door later and—"

I wrested my wallet out of my purse, put enough to cover myself down on the table, picked up my plate, hurried to the waiters' stand, asked for a box then and there, and then left with my dinner, without so much as a word to Frank.

That was a couple of years ago. Recently, I was at a local mall with two friends, and we had sat down in the food court over some lunch. Frank walked up to our table.

"I remember you," he said, "and that juicy butt of yours. Like a bubble! Mmm!"

I said, "Can you get away from us, loser?"

He shrugged and said, "Whatever. I still don't get you at all." He then turned and left us alone. I predict a lonely life for him.


  1. Were you on a date with our very own Howie?

  2. Even howie would be more discreet.

  3. He should have a name for his "boy downstairs." After all, why let a stranger make all your bad decisions for you?

    I call mine Gilligan, cuz he's my "little buddy" who always gets me in trouble!

    1. I'm thinking maybe "Herman", because what else would you call a pee-wee?

  4. Ah, old and familiar dating logic: "This didn't work. I'll try it again!" as well as the classic "She definitely wants to sleep with me - why else would she agree to this first date?"

  5. While Rachel's reaction was fine and appropriate, allow me to pretend I'm her for a minute, and say something she could've said to Frank.

    "Ah, I think I get what you're doing... you keep trying to direct conversation to your penis because you're horny and want to sleep with me. See, here's the thing. Women don't think like guys, so if you think just the mere mention of my 'bubble but' or your 'boy downstairs' is getting me really hot, you don't know much about women. On the other hand, if you maybe worked 'up' to some sexy talk, but casually, naturally and with plenty of humor, or whatever will help me lower my guard and go along with it, that's much more likely to work. 'I think brains and personality are sexy in a woman; if she's got a bubble butt, so much the better' - that might work depending on how you say it. 'I like your bubble butt' is for horny teenagers. See the difference?"

    Ah, hell... nevermind. Let Frank do it his way.

  6. I'm at a loss as to how the term 'bubble-butt' could ever be sucessfully worked into a romantic conversation. Suggestions?

  7. I'm at a loss as to how the guy cycled through the list of things he could possibly say and "He really wants to meet your Polly Pocket" was the winner.

    Then again, baby talk as a sex move makes me want to vomit until I dry retch and then dry retch until I actually start spitting up blood.


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