Is there anything worse than having to sit and listen while your wife complains about her work friends? The ones you barely know? The ones whose problems are entirely work-related, and therefore of no importance to you? The ones your wife is always complaining about anyway, usually while you're trying to watch the game?
"I mean, it's the same every year." She was fuming. "I never would have agreed to set this shit up if Gina hadn't agreed to help, and now she's bailing."
I sympathized, largely because my own life was about to get more stressful. My wife had agreed to help Crazy Gina with their school's "Spring Fling," some sort of variety show/talent competition the junior class ran every year. Gina was the class advisor, but she was on enough antianxiety meds to control a small town. So, already unstable, she wasn't good with added stress. Like the stress of taking on the production of a talent show. I shook my head. "I'll never understand why she became the class advisor." I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation, but that was usually a safe thing to say when Gina's name came up.
"I know, right? She's unstable, she's got two wild kids, and she's on her period right now anyway. Did I tell you she was mad at you the other day?"
"What's this now?" My ears perked up. I'd met Gina a few times, mostly at my wife's school functions. Though there had been that one time they'd had us over for dinner. I hadn't the faintest clue why Gina should be angry with me.
"She blamed me for having a husband who's good with the kids. Apparently Mike isn't, and she's pissed about it."
"Then she needs to handle Mike. It's not me she's pissed at." Most of what I knew about Gina came from my wife's stories. In person, Gina was a vivacious and very direct sparkplug of a woman: petite, even tiny, she was a strong believer in proper diet and exercise. She had a great deal of nervous energy and did not believe in beating around the bush or being subtle. Her face was long and lean, her eyes light green; normally I wasn't attracted to light eyes, but on her they were intriguing. Her long, wavy brown hair fell to her shoulder blades. She was one of those women who is more sexy than she is attractive; you'd never really call her "beautiful," but she radiated a sex appeal that was undeniable.
But she had severe OCD and ADHD, and she was a pain to be around a lot of the time. She was also my wife's best friend, so that meant I heard all the stories. According to my wife, Gina was most famous around their school for saying highly inappropriate things during lunch; she was direct enough that I could believe it. The other day, she'd apparently gone around the table asking their coworkers which of them had done anal. Earlier that week, she'd told a lively story about a threesome she'd once had in Aruba.
I was always careful, when the subject of Gina's inappropriate statements came up, to show extreme disinterest. It's wise, when hearing about the sex lives of your wife's friends or sisters, to pretend not to be interested. For instance, I didn't ask whether Gina had done anal herself, nor did I know whether her threesome had been two women or two men. Those were questions best not asked.
But I certainly did think about them.
"Yeah, well. I don't think she chose him for his father qualities, which may have been a mistake." No. Gina had clearly chosen her husband for his looks, to which even my wife wasn't quite immune, and his income. She was brooding now, furiously texting her sister, and I knew the conversation was over for now. She'd started out by declaring that she was "breaking up" with Gina, which made no sense; the two had been friends since Gina had started working there some six years ago. They had the same sense of humor, they both had kids similar ages, and they both liked to gossip.
But they were very different, too. Gina, after all, was the sort of woman who felt no qualms about asking her coworkers' preferences about anal sex. And my wife? Well, let's just say I knew what her answer to that question was. My wife was as down-to-earth and unadventurous as they came. Case in point: she'd started working at Seaborne Memorial and had never, ever thought of moving on for more money at some other school; Gina had resumes out all the time. I knew my wife would be inconsolable if Gina left, which left her constantly on edge about it. Particularly in the spring, when new teacher hires usually took place.
Sighing, I went back to the book I'd been reading. It was about the the history of the Texas Rangers, but it couldn't hold my interest. Instead, my mind was daydreaming about Gina Torrey. With a dick in her tiny, pert ass.
* * *
The trouble continued the next day, with Gina giving my wife Audrey the silent treatment. This really bothered my wife, though I couldn't figure out why: anytime an unstable and obnoxious person is not talking to me, I call it a win. But then, Gina wasn't my friend. This all put my wife in a very bad mood when she came home.
I knew this would blow over. It always did in Audrey's work stories. She seemed to have a pretty weird workplace, with a lot of secrets and a shitload of gossip even on a good day. Add in Gina's volatile nature, and it was a recipe for swirling disasters which, nevertheless, always blew over quickly.
And I was the guy who had to sit on the couch and hear the stories. There was a new one daily for the next week, and then Gina magically seemed to come around. "She apologized and said she'd be there."
"Wha?" I said. I'd been paying about 30% attention. "Be where?"
"At the Spring Fling. The whole problem is that she was going to help me do setup, but then that she had some kind of issue with her kid and couldn't make the actual show. Now she says she can."
"Ah." I went back to my book. "Mike's stepping up and babysitting for the evening?"
"Oh God no. No, she still bitches about him hourly."
I shook my head. "Why those two don't just get a divorce is beyond me. I mean, talk about incompatible." Michael Torrey was in real estate, a steady and solid workaholic with none of his wife's mental issues. "Obviously there are kids in the mix, and that makes things harder, but still." I frowned. "I've always been amazed that they ever got together in the first place."
She idly checked for texts. "Gina says she married him for the size of his dick. I've always thought she was just joking, but lately?" She spread her hands and shrugged.
I couldn't help myself. "She's a size queen, your Gina?"
"Who knows?" My wife found the text she was looking for and started doing a reply. "To hear her tell it, she's had all kinds. She's not exactly shy about talking about herself. Hell, you've met her. She's not shy about anything."
This was certainly true. Gina had an attitude of absolute confidence and self-assurance when she was properly medicated. She was very good at using what she had; as I said, she wasn't gorgeous. But her sex appeal was very high. I didn't doubt she'd seen plenty of dick. "Weird. To say the least, you guys talk about different things at work than we do."
"Well, you work with a bunch of computer geeks," she pointed out. "Of course penis size isn't likely to be a major topic. Still, you're not wrong: Gina's a little obscene even by teacher-lunchroom standards. Like, the other day she was talking about students she wanted to screw."
