If this hadn’t happened to me, I never would have believed it. But here’s how my reality show played out…
The week before New Year’s 2012, I was getting everything [i.e. my props] in order for the second New Year’s my boyfriend (let’s call him “B”) and I would be spending together. In our relationship for just over a year, the romance and passion is holding strong, in large part due to the very clear efforts we make to keep it that way. One example: Sex toys that we have experimented and played with over the year, not only to heighten sexual satisfaction, but also to show our trust and vulnerability with each other. There’s nothing like letting your partner play around with your body to deliver the message: I trust you. I’m in love with you.
Another element to our evening: The pot we were planning to get high on. Neither one of us favor the bubbly and while we both maintained a zero tolerance policy with our kids when they were growing up, smoking a joint every now and then is, quite frankly, something the two of us take pleasure in together… in the comfort and privacy of our home.
So you get the picture and if you don’t, I’ll lay it out more clearly: It’s five minutes to midnight. We’re waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square (on TV) when the doorbell rings. A look of panic spreads across my boyfriend’s face. He is positive it’s his 19-year-old son, dropping by to wish us well. (Lesson #1: Have children call ahead of time — even if it’s just a five minute warning call — if they’re planning an impromptu visit.)
B drops the joint into a glass of water, hops up and starts to wave magazines around to clear the smoke which has filled the living area. (Lesson #2: If you’re going to partake in the weed, do so in a well-ventilated area, preferably outside.)
Do we even answer the door? Well, not a whole lot of choice. Our cars are sitting out front, all the lights are on. So I remove the doused weed and say thanks to myself that we are still clothed (at least one less thing to worry about). With this taken care of, B goes to open the door and let in his son. (Lesson #3: Don’t forget to take care of the “toys” that may be sitting around.)
As B heads back into the living area — with his son and two girlfriends on his heels — he spots “the toy” still sitting out on the coffee table. As the kids enter the room, B outflanks them to the left, positions himself in front of the table, edges downward, plants the toy in his back waistband and backs out of the room. Mission accomplished? We’ll never really know who saw what. All I can hope is that they saw nothing. And me? I’m oblivious to the whole situation until later that night when the kids leave and B fills me in. (Lesson #4: Ignorance can sometimes be bliss.)