The tryst

From time to time, I wonder what some people think polyamory entails in our family. Do they imagine that we spend a good four-fifths of our time cavorting in bed, in ways of abiding interest to the patrons of video stores with blacked-out windows?

Well, gosh, I suppose we have our moments, albeit with a frequency pretty much on a par with Venus’s recent amble across the Sun.  As to the rest of the time... put it this way:

Most Wednesdays, Emma and I do have a tryst downtown. That much is true. But is it cast-iron XXX stuff? Look, here's an extract from last week's encounter. You be the judge.

(MATT discovered at downtown shuttle stop. Enter EMMA. They kiss.)
EMMA: Hello, sweet pea.
MATT: Hello, pickle. Jolly nice of you to see me on your lunch break.
EMMA: It's a pleasure. And the place where I eat is only two blocks away.
MATT: That's right. They do a good mushroom-and-barley soup, I hear.
EMMA: I have it every day.
MATT: A happy arrangement. Well, there's five minutes before my shuttle. Shall we stroll around the block?
EMMA: Yes, let's.
(They exit, stage right.)

See what I'm driving at? Don Juan cocks an eyebrow. Casanova mutters something under his breath about the younger generation thinkin' it all that, but it ain't. Frat boys trudge away, dragging their hard drives behind them.

I mean, Emma and I enjoy our Wednesday spots, but would they sell? That's my question for the sales staff of the dark-fronted video outlets: would they sell ?