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Gorilla Arms

A LOVE STORY

We were late for the symphony—as in 42 minutes remaining for a 45-minute drive downtown, not to mention parking a block from the venue.  With no seating after the music starts until the first interminable number is over, I'm thinking we'll be stuck in the lobby until the band and cheerleaders take the field at halftime.  Through some stroke of dumb luck and prudent speeding, we actually force-landed in our seats just seconds before maestro entered the stage to resounding applause. 

At intermission, I was hell bent for the restroom. Bill, like so many of his species, remained seated. What is it with that plumbing system? Do they have an auxiliary holding tank off to the side? Who cares? I was happy to leave my purse tucked under my seat and retreat for relief. Imagine my surprise when I returned to—no one. The man had split. I could only guess that his bladder changed its mind. For a moment I thought he might have forgotten that he was on guard duty, but my bag was gone as well.

So my imposing hunk of a guy, self-described as Gorilla Arms, is walking around with a purse.

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I headed back to the lobby to catch him in the act. No Bill in sight. The usher at the end of our aisle was close by, so I casually mentioned that my sweetheart was probably walking around with my purse in tow. Her eyes grew wide and she said, "Oh yes! I definitely saw a big fellow with a purse—not tossed over his shoulder or tucked under his arm, either. He was carrying it just like a woman would."

So my imposing hunk of a guy, self-described as Gorilla Arms, is walking around with a purse dangling from his massive hand. I laughed out loud and told her he must be very sure of his masculinity and she said, "No, dear, that's love."

By this time he was walking toward us in all of his glory, the Marine persona intact, gorilla arms at his side—one holding a lovely leather purse with gold embellishments. Completely at ease, he broke into a grin the moment he saw me. Talk about your Kodak moment.

"Weren't you embarrassed or worried at all about about what they were thinking?"

Only after the two of us shared big laughs with the usher and were heading back to our seats did the full impact of his mission dawn on me. Bill wasn't just wandering around the lobby to stretch his legs. He went to the men's room!

Trying for tactful interrogation, I asked if he hung my purse on the small hook in the stall. (Wouldn't you want to know?)

"Stall? I didn't use a stall. I just had to pee and we stand next to each other, remember? I did this..." Then he started miming the way he tucked the thing under his arm as he "aimed" (spare me) and then set it on the counter while he washed and dried his hands. Now my imagination is lapsing into deep shock.

"Were other men around you?"

"Well, of course.  It was intermission; the place was swarming with them." 

"Did they stare?" 

"I don't know.  I wasn't paying attention."

"Weren't you embarrassed or worried at all about about what they were thinking?"

"No, I was just taking care of something for you. I didn't make any difference to me what it was." 

The usher was right. 

When I shared this with my friend and new mother Amanda, she said, "Okay, Kevin is going to hear about this one.  He refuses to carry the diaper bag because it's PINK!"

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