Thanks to all for making this an enjoyable experience, and I appreciate your words of support.
We had almost been married a year when the Spring of 1975 rolled around, and the marriage that I envisioned a year ago had become something very different. Each day I hoped it would become more in line with the way I had thought it would be, and each day became more and more bizarre.
* * * * * *
Chapter 1. Our swingin' social life.
Mike picked me up from work one afternoon, and he was acting really antsy as he drove us home. An antsy Mike was rarely good as far as I was concerned, mainly because that usually meant that something was about to happen to me. This would prove to be no exception.
"We're going on the road again," Mike sang in his best imitation of Bob Hite of Canned Heat. "This weekend babe," Mike announced. "A little vacation."
Vacation was a word that I had not heard from Mike before, and for a minute my head spun with excitement before I came back to earth. This was Mike talking, after all, and with our finances I figured that for us a vacation would be a night in a tent somewhere. I was close.
"Syracuse!" Mike announced, referring to a city about 50 miles west of us.
"Syracuse?" I asked. "What's in Syracuse besides a college?"
"We got invited to a party," Mike said. "Not just a beer and chips party, but a real party with classy people."
Where we fit in as far as that crowd went was something I didn't understand, and Mike was typically vague about the whole trip. From past experience that could only mean that something was up, and most likely it would be something weird.
We drove to Syracuse that Saturday afternoon, and spent the better part of an hour driving around the general area of the interstate exit, in search of the cheapest possible budget motel room. While Mike scanned the signs outside the motel rooms, making the value judgements necessary to determine whether a room that was $17.76 would be better than the one that was $19 but had a pool.
"At least this will be interesting cocktail conversation with these society types tonight," I commented dryly. "You can tell them how we spent the afternoon driving all over East Buttfuck trying to save 75 cents by getting the cheapest possible motel room in the city."
"That's how people get to be where they are in this world," Mike the economist retorted. "Watch the pennies and the dollars take care of themselves."
"I think we passed a big cardboard refrigerator box a mile or so back," I quipped, resisting the urge to inform Mike that spending twenty bucks on a motel room instead of just driving back home after this party, would also make financial sense.
No way, for the motel room was part of Mike's grand plan. A plan that I was still in the dark about when we checked into this cheap motel on the outskirts of Syracuse.
It had been a warm spring day, and I had managed to get sweaty enough on the 50 mile trip that had taken nearly two hours, so that another shower was necessary before getting dressed for this party. When I emerged from the shower Mike was waiting, and to my surprise helped me dry off, showing his tender and caring side that I always loved. Probably because I saw it so infrequently.
"You're so beautiful babe," Mike said as he dried my back. "I'm really lucky to have you."
Even though I knew that none of this was really designed for my benefit, I went along with it because it felt so nice to be wanted by the man that I still loved for some reason.
"What's that Mike?" I asked as I looked up at the dress hanging on the hook on the door.
"That's your party dress Becky," Mike announced. "I got it special for you. Great, ain't it?"
I had brought a dress to wear, and it was a very conservative and simple dress. Nothing like what was hanging on the door in front of me.
"Where are we going, Laugh-In?" I asked as I looked at the brightly colored dress with the spaghetti straps that Mike had gotten me, and it looked just like something that Judy Carne or Goldie Hawn would have worn on that television show.
"You'll look incredible in it babe," Mike said, and while I had to admit that I liked it despite the fact that it was a little dated for 1975, I wasn't sure that it was right for me. It was going to be pretty obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra, for one thing, as the fabric was thin. The sides were really low as well, which meant that..."
"Oh, now I see," I said as Mike coincidentally just then lifted my arms and dried my armpits. "I'm going to be the entertainment."
"You're too paranoid, and way too sensitive," Mike said as he meticuously continued to work the towel. "Lots of women look just like you. European women too!"
"Well, the last I checked Syracuse isn't in Europe," I complained as Mike went on, practically drying each of my many armpit hairs individually for me.
I had stopped shaving under my arms a few months ago at Mike's request - or was it instruction? I didn't mind doing it for him, as he had certainly paid more attention to me, at least for awhile. It's just that I felt very self-conscious about it, especially seeing how "well endowed" I was in those areas, and while it excited Mike, I was sure he was in the minority as far as public opinion went.
"You will look incredible, and I'll bet you any money that there will be other women with hairy armpits there tonight," Mike assured me. "It's a hip thing nowadays. Besides, you don't have to flaunt it if you don't want to."
"Flaunting won't be necessary," I said forlornly as I looked at the skimpy garment. "I do look forward to you watching you looking under every woman's arm tonight though,"
"I will be," Mike said, and I didn't doubt him at all. "You'll see!"
I envisioned a long night with my arms pinned to my sides, and could only hope that the booze was flowing, because I had a feeling that I was going to feel the need to get shit faced as soon as possible.
Chapter 2. Party time.
We got dressed and headed out to this party, and what a sorry sight we were. Since I was one of this motley crew and felt that way, I can't imagine what we looked like to the real world. Two goobers who gave every indication that they had just emerged from a time capsule dated 1968, with me in my 'Sock it to me!' dress, and Mike in a new acquisition of his own. A Nehru jacket.
"What is this we're going to, a costume party?" I asked when Mike had first put on the olive green relic and checked himself out in the mirror. "All that's missing is a medallion and you'll look like a pale Sammy Davis Jr.!"
I wasn't surprised in the least when he went over to his suitcase and pulled out a silver necklace with a peace symbol on it, and did a little dance while looking at his reflection.
"What do you think?" Mike said proudly, flashing me a peace sign, and getting half of one back in return.
"I think you went to shop at the Salvation Army thrift store."
"Your dress was brand new," Mike said defiantly. "This looks like it was hardly ever worn."
"No wonder," I mused.
"Relax Becky," Mike said. "They know we're hippies."
"We are?" I asked increduously. "You were playing a Raspberries album before we left the house."
"We're plenty cool, and a whole lot hipper than anybody else that's going to be there," Mike said. "This isn't just any party we got invited to, you know. They are very selective."
