It is Thursday night and I am busy coming up with suggestions for date night, suggestions that even I don’t want to go on, just so that it looks like I’m putting some effort in.
“Let’s do something fun this time; something exciting,” says my wife, with hope rapidly draining from her face.
“What did we do last time?”
On date night you have to go out and then have sex, don’t blame me; it’s the rules, or you have to come up with a great excuse not to have sex, such as a recurring back injury or that you’ve had too much shepherd’s pie. I find it’s alway handy to keep a few shepherd’s pies in the freezer just in case anyone tries to have sex with me.
“I’ve got it!” she says like a woman possessed. “Stranger’s in a bar. Let’s do Stranger’s in a bar.”
“You know I don’t drink.”
“Yes, but you’re alter ego does.”
“Who is my alter ego?”
“He’s dynamic. A guy that knows his own mind and doesn’t take any shit.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“Tough, you’re doing it.”
I wish my alter ego was around during the daytime to be honest. I have to think up some kind of fictional character, a person who embodies all the characteristics that I admire, and more importantly, a fictional character that my wife would want to have sex with twice.
If you’re not sure what Stranger’s in a Bar is, it’s a role-play sex game where you pretend to be someone else and pick your wife up in a bar, and then put in extra effort during sex, such as sucking your gut in or taking your slippers off.
The night finally arrives and my alter ego is fully fleshed out in my mind. I drop the kids off with my sister-in-law, and find that I can’t look her in the eye because of what my alter ego is going to do to her sister later on, then go home to transform. The house is empty and it feels quite eery. My wife has already left to take up her seat in the bar in a hotel in Leeds city centre; all I can smell is her perfume, and it seems like her alter ego enjoys smelling like the beauty counter at Boots. I get changed into my character.
My no-bullshit, sexy alter ego is called, Dr Fong. He is a talented bio-physicist who is just stopping by a bar in Leeds for a quick drink before he flies off to a bio-chemical conference in Michigan. I know there is no direct route from Leeds/Bradford airport to Michigan but Dr Fong doesn’t care, he’s a freaking wildcard.
I enter the bar and I can immediately smell my wife. I make my way over.
“Hi, is this seat taken?” I ask in a smooth, talented bio-chemist voice.
“What the fuck?” she says.
“You’re feisty,” I say. “I like that. Let me introduce myself. I am Dr Fong, talented..”
“Bollocks, you’re not Dr Fong. You’re Troy Maddison, the technology entrepreneur.”
The waiter comes over and asks if we would like anything from the bar menu. Troy looks at the menu but is feeling a little bit sad that Dr Fong has left.
“I’ll have the Nicoise salad,” says my wife.
“And I’ll have the shepherd’s pie,” I reply.
Dr Fong spotted!
Don’t worry Dr Fong fans, apparently Troy Maddison wasn’t very good in the sack so we may see Dr Fong again some time.
If you’re wondering what Dr Fong looks like, the very talented blogger, Katy from http://www.carryonkaty.com managed to spot him and get down a sketch before he flew off to his bio conference in Michigan.