#69 THE HOT TATTOOED HISPANIC DILF, AKA THE THIRD PERSON I MET AT STARBUCKS
#69 THE HOT TATTOOED HISPANIC DILF, AKA THE THIRD PERSON I MET AT STARBUCKS
Let’s just say things got embarrassing and he was too polite
My older sister (Jae), my niece (Caroline), and my late father are all lactose-intolerant vegetarians, which will become relevant after my short backstory.
Growing up, we all had a lactose-free vegetarian diet. When my parents split up, I later ate meat. I think the story my Grandma Gill tells goes something along the lines of my Mum still kept me on a vegetarian diet (as my Dad would have preferred) but we were all eating dinner one weekend at my late Grandad Mike and Grandma Gill’s house and Mum was eating a pork chop, which I nicked from her plate and ran off to eat under the table and at that point, I started eating meat for the first time.
My Dad always did say that the only non-veggie food he missed was bacon, but I think he’d been ‘converted’ by my sister’s mother back in the 1970s and thus spent most of his life as a vegetarian. Jae clearly had no hope with two practically vegan parents (love you, Sis). Except for that one time when she used to live and work in New Orleans (doing stem-cell research or some sort of biochemistry lab-y thing at Tulane University) and she tried the absolute worst kind of ‘non-plant foods’ available on the encouragement of a doctor boyfriend at the time: an oyster and a crawfish. I mean no one is going to be ‘converted’ eating those! (I like both but any seafood is decidedly a preference for many.)
I may or may not be an undiagnosed lactose intolerant person myself but I cannot deny myself my love of all things dairy, especially cheese and chocolate. Not together, obviously. I’m not a monster.
Things get even better when you add in other dairy food groups I adore like butter, cream, and crème fraiche. A lovely peppercorn cream sauce. Oh yes! Combine chocolate and cream for one of my all-time favourite puddings: chocolate mousse. Now you’re talking. Croissants, pastries, indulgent goodness. Yes, please. Cheese platters with olives and charcuterie. (Remember the meme about the shark coochie board? LOLs.) Yum! Mix together milk and eggs for custard tarts or crème brûlée. Also my speed. Truffles, chocolates, anything. I can’t resist. You get the point.
I have always loved food and eaten quite a lot of it hence why I’ve never been thin thin. I used to lift weights and do enough cardio to out-exercise my indulgences and, perhaps, I had more balance, who knows? But I maybe should have been a lot bigger than I was. But boy do the thirties hit you!
As a late thirty-something adult, I can assure you that no, these foods do not feature in my daily diet (besides milk in my tea). I love the odd indulgence, but despite not getting tested for lactose intolerance to be frank and/or TMI, these foods make me gassy.
Enough backstory!
The night the hot Hispanic tattooed DILF invited me over to his place to Netflix and chill before that was a thing. (I think it turned into more handjob special and sexy mostly unclothed make-out instead.) That night, unfortunately, my body must have been indulging… I’m passive-voicing this story so that no, it wasn’t me who ate probably shedloads of cheese.
I’d seen this man at Starbucks. Again, they should sponsor me or turn Starbucks into a speed dating service. One or the other. As I’ve said previously, I was there often grading papers for the university classes I taught.
Catch up on the previous posts about the first person I met at Starbucks and the second person I met at Starbucks (AKA the really, really hot one) here. Also, spoiler: there will be a fourth person I met at Starbucks (AKA my first husband)!
I’d see this incredibly tall hunk of a man. English people say someone is built like a brick shithouse. He was built like a brick shit house. Massive muscles. Good face and jawline. Older but still hot. Older is relative when you’re mid-twenties, though. Now everyone under thirty looks like a baby! Full of tattoos which wasn’t usually my bag. Big, white smile.
I’d see him come into Starbucks with his son and that didn’t put me off. I melted at how lovely they were together, how much he doted on him. How much his son seemed to adore his father. The bond they clearly shared. It was lovely! I’d give my usual flirty eyes and smiles – when his son was not around – and sometimes we exchanged a bit of small talk or hellos as you do with strangers you see repeatedly.
One day, we exchanged numbers and I went over to his apartment one night.
When I awoke the next morning, I was mortified. The room smelled like that of a teenage boy. You know the smell and if you don’t, you’re very lucky. What’s worse is I knew I was the culprit but I think he thought he was. Or maybe he was just making me feel better? He wrinkled his nose and opened the window.
I never saw him again after that. You know mid-dream when you can feel yourself letting off unsavoury sounds? It was like that through the night. That hasn’t happened quite like that before or since but I could never show my face to him again. I think he was a lovely man but I just could not have lived that down.
I’ll tell more stories about Michael when I get to those chapters but this explains the sort of jokester I married.
When we were first together about two years in, we went to Michael’s cousin’s fortieth birthday (his cousin Andrew, who later became our best man at our wedding) and his aunties were asking Michael, as aunties do, when he was going to propose to me. Michael proceeded to tell them with a straight face, I might add, that he was going to propose one day during ‘Poo Bath Wednesday.’
My eyes widened as Micahel explained that ‘Poo Bath Wednesday’ was when he took a bath and I took a shit when he was in the bath. Reader, ‘Poo Bath Wednesday’ has never nor ever will be ‘a thing.’ But the more I reddened and tried to explain to the aunties it wasn’t a thing, the more it looked like it was a thing.
Yes, I sometimes sit in the bathroom when Michael is bathing to chat to him and wash his hair. No, I have never had a poo in front of him. I definitely draw the line at toileting in front of anyone.
Also, no, I can’t repeat the ‘DILF room smell incident’ because Michael and I each have our own bedrooms and that’s probably merciful. But I’m happy to report – not that anyone wanted a flatulence update – that my gut health is very good these days and I don’t often suffer with such issues. I did even write about it here and my kombucha adventures – thanks to my adorable nutritionist, David.
Coming up next, the one-night stand guy (another Captain) who kissed my shoulder.
Don’t forget to check out the other sixty-eight posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place – and the odd “present day snippet” of what I’m up to lately.
Have you ever had something absolutely mortifying happen to you on a date or during a hook-up or a sleepover? Share in the comments (or in my DMs).
Hahaha...love the Brady Bunch gif. I was a faithful viewer and never...I repeat...never eat pork chops without saying that famous line with the accent: pork chops and apple sauce!
For the series: words I learned while reading and don't know how to pronounce, I'd like to add: lozenges, chasm, artificer, and Valkyrie. I know, they seem niche, but when you play DnD in winter you will find yourself saying all of them in one session.