My name is Cheryl and I'm married to a good man. His name is Bob and he's an accountant. Okay, that's not the most exciting thing you've heard? He isn't a buff construction worker named Blake or Dirk who works the high steel. He isn't a Navy Seal named Ace or Hunter who runs off on secret life-or-death missions. He's a married man and father of two, who comes home every night, puts food on the table and a roof over our heads, drinks the occasional beer, and gets up the next day to do it all over again. And, yes, he is my married man and I wouldn't trade him for anything.
We've been married for twelve years. Our daughter is ten and our son is eight. They are typical kids with friends, school, homework, sports, and everything is urgent with them except getting out of bed in the morning. They urgently need to go to the movies with their friends. Their friends are getting together for a ball game and they must, must get to the field right away. All of my daughter's friends are getting together for a sleepover and she will just die if she doesn't go, too. Like I said, they are typical kids and I love them to death.
When our youngest started school I went back to work. I got my old job back and became an office drone again. It's boring, except when everything needs to be done yesterday, but motherhood prepared me for dealing with managers in a more effective manner than I did before I got married. That's a polite way of saying, "Babies will be babies at any age." I take it all in stride now, smile, and say, "We'll get it done. Where are the papers?" I refrain from asking, "...and why did you wait until now to tell me?" because it just won't do any good.
The office staff changed a good bit while I was away. A lot of the older women (I mean my age, and if you ever tell anyone I referred to myself as "an older woman" I will slap you) are gone and the ranks are filled with twenty-somethings. Was I that foolish a decade ago? Half are married and half are not and after a while I started hearing stories. I started by overhearing them, but in time I was included in the conversations. I started thinking that some of the married women around me had a rather cavalier attitude toward marriage. Their stories amused me, and maybe that's how I almost got myself into trouble, but what they didn't see is that their stories also troubled me.
I guess they warmed up to me in time and they started to invite me to Happy Hour after work. It was usually just the women from the office, but everywhere we went they seemed to know a few of the men. Sometimes they knew a lot of the men. A table for four became two tables pulled together for eight or ten. It was always fun. The conversation was lively. Some of the women I worked with could be outrageous and we always laughed.
I started to realize that the women I worked with could be divided into three groups. There were the single girls and more power to them! They went out shopping for men, sometimes the right man and sometimes just a man for right now, but they were single and they had that right. Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn't just a right, it was an obligation! We married women had to live vicariously through their adventures, didn't we? They tried to tell me what I was missing and I just smiled and wondered if they knew all that they were missing in their single life? Then there were the married women who went home to their husbands and families, lived quiet lives with simple pleasures, and were considered boring by their coworkers. I knew immediately that I was one of them. Last, there were the married women who acted like single girls. I often wondered if they were half as bad as their talk, or were they all talk and no action?
I remember Karen telling me once, "Come on, Cheryl, you go home to the same man every night. Wouldn't you like to just cut loose sometime and sample something different? Try something exotic and dangerous sometime. Spice up your life! You might like it."
I laughed. Who wouldn't? It was flattering to think I could attract a new man, but dangerous to consider I might. I said, "Too rich for my blood, girlfriend. For me, it's meatloaf Friday nights and beef stew every Tuesday." I didn't tell her that I make a fantastic massaman curry and a chicken soup that in a pinch tastes more like crab than chicken. And do not get me started on my fish tacos! Even people who hate fish love them. Karen was right. It's all in the spice. Then again, Karen wasn't talking about food and I had no intention of telling her what first-class home cooking I had waiting for me at night.
I would have thought her comment was funnier if it had come from one of my single friends, but Karen was a married woman. She was my age and she should know better. Good husbands don't grow on trees and a wife who goes out sampling the wares of other men can come home to an empty house very quickly and with no warning. I'm not stupid. I know it's true. What bothered me is that I found I was reminding myself more and more of that fact as I spent time around Karen and some of the married women who seemed to think they were single.
"Come on, Cheryl! Let me set you up with a young stud. You need to get your pipes cleaned and I know just the man for the job."
Again, it was flattering in an insulting kind of way, but it was not for me. "Karen, I'll take the same man every night for the next fifty years over anything else these other men can throw at me and you can believe that!" She just smirked and quietly shook her head. I don't think she believed me at all.
Happy Hours were fun and I went about once every few weeks. The single girls danced a lot and some of the married women danced just as much. Both started calling me a wall flower until I decided that I'd show them. The next time I was asked to dance I got up and I showed those girls some serious moves. I danced with various men that night, but whenever a slow tune came around I kept my partner at a respectful distance. They kidded me about that, too.
What is it with these women? Do they think they can use some adolescent peer pressure to get me to change my behavior? Do they actually think I'll do anything I don't want to do just because I want their approval? It didn't work in high school and it wouldn't work now. Anyway, two drinks, some nibbles, and a couple of dances were my limit and I would go home while the single women and the married women who acted like single women were just getting started.
I did start to notice that wherever we went the same men started showing up. I'm not stupid. I knew that something was going on that I was not being told about, but it was their lives. I tried to be pleasant, laugh at the jokes, not be judgmental, but I started realizing that the married women who talked a good game about having a little something on the side weren't all talk like I once suspected. Some of these bitches were cheating on their husbands. When I realized that I started backing off the Happy Hour invitations and going less often. I was more guarded and I started thinking that maybe I was in alien territory.
It all came to a head one night when a couple of the other well-behaved married women backed out. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I wonder what they knew? This night it was just me, one single, and three married passing for single. That made five. Talk was more excited that night and my companions were pouring drinks faster than usual. No sooner was my glass half empty and it was filled again. I was losing track of my drinking and it dawned on me that was their goal.