Lesson 22: There's Enough to Go Around

It's happened too many times now to NOT talk about it. Always unexpected. Always (at first) disturbing. Always (after reframing) strangely flattering. The Dad Grab. Not from my own, of course. That would be gross. But from sometimes well-known, sometimes unknown, sometimes barely known dads. Who grab my ass. No joke. Butts beware of the old, seemingly regular, dad.


Let's start ten years ago when this ass first came to be. Until college, I never even had one really. One of those flat bottoms. Nothing to write home about. Then I got on the pill, got on the beer, and got on the dorm food and WA LA! Old Ass For Days Galassi (my maiden name) was born. Since then, I have received my fair share of drunk ass grabs at parties from Nathan's friends (who, you BET were made to apologize to me after old Ass For Days tattle-tailed on them to her Bad Boy) and slightly awkward grazings after a hug with one of your friend's husbands or that chatty guy me and my hubbs met at the bar. But none of these top the tops of the butt bops of late. Allow me to explain.


1.) I have tried and tried to erase the following occurrence from my memory. Try as I may, the truth persists. Names will not be disclosed to protect the identity of involved Grabbing Dad. While old Ass For Days may be a tattle-tail, she ain't no homewrecker.


2007 was the year of weddings for the hubbs and I. Always off somewhere witnessing friends tie the knot. And being the (at the time) working mother of a oneish-year-old, it sure was fun getting all hussied up for the big ta-das. While I hadn't reached my full MILF potential back then, I was well on my way. True to character, Nathan did plenty of grabbing all his own at each and every possible moment, which, despite my pleadings to NOT grab my bedroom body parts in public, happens every time we attend such an event. Nonetheless, he is my hubbs and I'd rather have him grabbing ME than grabbing anyone else. More importantly, I'd rather have him grabbing me than anyone ELSE grabbing me. Especially someone who you've known for years. But it happened.


Cocktails in hand (and other cocks hard in someone's pants, I'm sure), the seemingly regular Grabbing Dad and I made small talk. How's your baby. How's your life. And at the end of the conversation, it suddenly and unspokenly turned into "and how's that sweet old Ass For Days" doing?" A simple hug morphed into a seedy "holla" as his hand firmly, intently, and greedily whacked my tail on the tail end of the hug.

What. The. Fuck.

What's a girl to do? Can't make a scene at your friend's wedding. Can't call him out because he's one of your friend's dads. Can't slap his ass back either. What a pickle. So inappropriate. So invasive. So not right. He should know better.

2.) If that dad should know better, then the next dad (about twenty years his elder) should REALLY know better. The Sunday started out regular. Just me, my dad, and my baby, goin' out to breakfast at a diner back home. My folks are regulars themselves at this joint; we walk in, to their regular booth across from the other regulars. An old couple, probably in their seventies. Who invited themselves to my daughter's welcoming party when she was a month old. They showed up first and left last. Brought a handmade blanket and hand-carved coat rack. Nice, seemingly regular, old folks...or so I thought.

This Regular Dad turned out to be not so regular. Before my daughter and I sat down, I stopped to stand next to this Regular Dad, who sat eating his regular breakfast of bacon and eggs, for some chit chat. And a swanky pat-pat, too, evidently. YEAH. As I unzipped my baby's jacket, his hand firmly, intently, and greedily whacked my tail on the tail end of our hellos.

What! The! Fuck! AGAIN!!!

He had brought a hand-carved crayon holder for her since he knew we were coming. Which was presented almost immediately following the pat-pat. Which was followed up with a, "You know, you really are so very pretty" in what seemed to be a very sincere tone. Hmmm. I began to think this entire pat-pat was planned-planned. Consider:

1.) He knew we were coming.

2.) He brought a deflection device, the crayon holder.

3.) He knew I'd be in a position where I couldn't make a scene.

I was duped again. So ridiculous. So shady. So not right. He should know better.

After I got over feeling violated by not one, but two well-known dads, I gave it some thought. If I get so excited over college boys, I can only imagine how excited old, seemingly regular, dads get over young mothers. Crap, I've been doing Nathan for eight years straight and while 110% satisfied, might occasionally wonder what it would be like to go home drunk with someone like, I don't know, Clive Owen. Or to be rescued on a pirate ship by Johnny Depp. Or to invite my mailman in for a non-commital, nonverbal romp on my couch. We're all only human. And while these old, seemingly regular, dads perhaps should know better, maybe they do know better.

Maybe they know women want to be wanted. Maybe they know it can be flattering for a woman to receive an ass grab from a dude that's seen a lot of asses over the years. Maybe they know that a nice girl, like old Ass For Days Galassi, who has received her fair share of ass grabs over the years, can take a few more. From a good old, seemingly regular, dad. Some may call it harassment. Some may call me a door mat. But the way I see it, there's enough (of my ass) to go around.