In a considerably more light-hearted story, when we still lived in NYC Steve needed a new motorcycle jacket, googled to find a store, found one in Chelsea (he did not consult me first) and headed there on his lunch break. https://twitter.com/michelamaxwell/status/1307385329075322883

So he walks in, starts going through the jackets w great single-minded purpose and zero peripheral awareness, then flags one of the employees down.

“None of these have a back zip to put an extra lower back pad in, can you help me find one?”

And the employee did this confused tilted head look, then realized what was happening, smiled and said “Sir, this is an Arby’s/leather daddy outerwear store.”

Steve looked around, noticed a board of ball gags, and apologized for wasting the employee’s time. Then they shook hands and went about their very separate lives.

Steve’s only other failure to read a room in this manner happened in his twenties when he was hitchhiking in Spain and got picked up by a trucker.

Like many people on the spectrum, Steve does not have a great grasp of non-verbal communication. He does, however, speak excellent Spanish, and when the trucker said “the stars, they are so beautiful tonight” he was “yeah, they really are.”

The trucker then offered to let him eat and crash at his place, which had happened several times while hitching (Steve had no money and had been eating roadside lemons for about a week) so he happily took him up on it.

He ate as much as possible without taking more than his acceptable share, and then the trucker gave him a tour of the house, culminating in the bedroom, where the trucker went in for the “running hands through hair, deep kiss” maneuver.

Steve stepped back, explained he was exclusively interested in women, apologized for the misunderstanding, and asked if he could still sleep on his couch.

The nice trucker said that was fine, he made him breakfast the next morning, Steve went back to hitchhiking.

The two meals (and many, many more disgusting roadside lemons) gave him enough energy to hitch back to Hamburg, where he was supposed to be doing physics and not acting a fool by trying to make it to Morocco on about fifty bucks.

He’s also very good at gently disentangling himself from women, to be fair. You may or may not have been here for The Woman Who Came To Our Barbecue.

If not: we were very seriously dating and decided to have a barbecue & invite some friends, many of whom were Princeton alums that had taken martial arts classes from Steve (he was popular as a teacher bc if someone got pinned Steve would call his dog to run over & lick them.)

Shortly before the BBQ, Steve sat me down and said “so, one of the women coming to the BBQ asked me to be her boyfriend a few years ago, and I said I would rather be friends, and then SHE said ‘well, can we have break-up sex, then?’”

Which, by the way, nicely done. YOLO.

So I responded “so, I am guessing you had sex with her...” and then we both said “so as not to be rude” simultaneously.

Yes. They had sex twice and since then had been extremely platonic.

I thanked him for telling me.

So then, this disrespectful tramp (wait for it) came to our BBQ.

I introduced myself to her, in a friendly manner, since I, too, understood wanting Steve to be my boyfriend, or, failing that, getting railed by him.

She smiled, pulled me in so only I could hear, and said “Steve and I used to be LOVAAAHHHHS, but that’s all in the past.”

Before telling me her NAME, even.

I smiled with all my teeth and asked her if she would like a beverage.

She did not. Instead, she waited until she had Steve and I in a corner, and said “Nicole, if it wouldn’t be THREATENING to you, could Steve take me for a ride on the motorcycle? It’s been so long.”

She didn’t even ask Steve. Clearly, *I* was the arbiter of whether some ginger bitch could shove her boobs into my boyfriends back and wrap her arms around his midsection in the middle of a PARTY we were throwing as a COUPLE.

Steve looked at me with this glazed expression like when your headlights see a deer on the road.

I knew damn well I was not going to admit to being THREATENED by this woman, so I said “of course, have a lovely time. Steve, can you be back to grill the burgers?”

They were gone for about 15 minutes. Steve grilled the burgers. In a detail I have previously omitted because I wouldn’t do it foday, I spit on hers before putting ketchup on it.

When she finished the burger I handed her her purse and said “it’s been so delightful meeting you! Let me walk you out.”

(Party obviously went on for two more hours. I have never seen her since, but I maintain a certain level of respect for her audacity.)

But, my friends, IMAGINE if Steve hadn’t had the good sense to tell me about the “breakup sex” before The Would-Be First Mrs De Winter tried to work me over.

She is happily married now and I wish her all the best. Our business together is finished. I finished it.

I am not going to be “threatened” by anyone whose breasts are less magnificent than my own.

But consider this a warning, I can be Pushed Too Far and it’s not pretty.

After everyone left, Steve apologized about Ginger Bitch’s behavior & complimented me on what a calm/gracious hostess I had been to handle it as I did. I accepted the praise & then initiated extremely “YOU CAN’T GET THIS ELSEWHERE” sex.

He still doesn’t know about the burger.