February Sucks

February Sucks.

by GeorgeAnderson.

This tale has its origin in a conversation remembered from some decades ago. The conversation shocked me, and made such an impression that I'm quite sure I remember its essentials correctly. A recent event reminded me of that conversation, and motivated this story. Thanks to BlackRandl1958 and stev2244 for their kindness, thoughtful discussion, and for fixing my mistakes.

The conversation:

Many years ago, I was out of town at a conference. About 20 of us, half men and half women, almost all married, went out to a watering hole one evening to decompress. The local fauna were hitting pretty heavily on the women at our table. We guys were wincing at the crudity of the locals' attempts, while the women laughed and rejected them. One particularly bad approach drew the comment, "He's lucky I like this beer, otherwise he'd be wearing it."

"So what if it had been [famous football player: call him Jocko] saying that to you? Would he have scored?" another woman asked with a flirty little smirk in her voice.

"Hell, yes!" "Absolutely!" It was clearly unanimous.

"What if it meant, you know..."

"Especially if it meant that!" The women's laughter was genuine; the guys' was a little forced.

Understand, these women weren't dogs who couldn't get a date: they ranged from pretty to downright hot. They were in their late twenties and early thirties, and dressed for a night out.

"Um, what would you tell your husband?" one of the guys asked hesitantly.

"Um, why would I tell my husband?" The reply was instantaneous, and greeted with laughter and head-nodding from the women.

"What if your husband was here?" the guy persisted. We could all hear the anxiety in his voice.

One of the women leaned forward with her elbows on the table and looked him dead in the eye. I remembered her from lunch; she'd been showing off pictures of her husband and their perfectly adorable five-year-old girl. "I would tell him that he knows how much I love him, and he knows I'll always come back to him, but I'm not going to pass up this opportunity, and I'll see him sometime tomorrow." She spoke calmly and kindly but with determination. None of us could doubt that she meant exactly what she said.

Several guys' jaws dropped considerably; I know mine was one.

"No, you wouldn't," the guy next to me muttered. The woman looked at him pityingly.

"Yes, I would, and I think every woman here would do the same."

"You might leave with him tonight, but if I was your husband, you sure as hell wouldn't see me tomorrow." He was as serious as she was.

Another woman tried to fix things. "Listen, I love my husband, I wouldn't trade him for anything. Jocko doesn't mean anything to me and never will, and he probably wouldn't even remember my name the next morning. But spending a night with him, just one night out of our whole marriage, would be something I could remember for the rest of my life. An event, you know, with a capital E? It would have nothing to do with the way I feel about my husband. Afterward, I would go home to the man I love, and everything would be like it was before."

A tense silence fell on the table. "Well, that shows us married guys where we stand, doesn't it?" one guy muttered.

"Come on, guys, don't be that way. It's not that big a deal."

The party broke up pretty quickly after that, as people left by ones and twos to wander quietly back to the conference hotel. I have no idea whether the women at that table were typical. I meant to ask my wife about it when I got home, but didn't get up the nerve. I still haven't. I'm not sure I want to know the answer, anyway.

GA.

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"Some person in authority, I don't know who, very likely the Astronomer Royal,

Has decided that, although for such a beastly month as February,

Twenty-eight days as a rule are plenty,

One year in every four his days shall be reckoned as nine and twenty."

-- W. S. Gilbert, "The Pirates of Penzance."

"He flies through the air with the greatest of ease,

The daring young man on the flying trapeze.

His movements are graceful, the girls he does please,

And my love he has purloined away."

-- Joe Saunders (pseud. for George Leybourne), "The Man on the Flying Trapeze," 1867.

-------------

February sucks.

It always does, unless you live in one of those places that doesn't have winter. Every February sucks, but that particular February out-sucked all the others put together, and the March that followed was worse.

The Worst February Ever started with two weeks when we literally didn't see the sun. Grey overcast, high temperatures in the 20s and an occasional inch or two of snow. Everyone was looking forward to Valentine's Day as if it was their hope of salvation. It fell on Thursday that year, and so many people were taking the next day off that the editorial writers were saying we might as well shut the whole city down on February 15

th

.

Linda and I had big plans for Valentine's Day, just like everyone else. Like everyone else, we awoke to two inches of new snow, with more falling rapidly. By mid-afternoon we were both sent home from work while we could still get somewhere: the whole city was shutting down. By the time we should have been getting dressed for our night on the town, all the roads were closed to non-essential traffic so we changed into our cozy sweats instead. The great Valentine's Day date, the dinner-movie-dancing one that was supposed to make up for the previous two weeks of unrelieved beastliness, was frozen pizza and "Frozen" with the kids. The only dancing we did was dancing Emma (age six) and Tommy (age four) up to their bedrooms amid protests of "You know there won't be any school tomorrow."

After the kids were asleep, I sighed as I handed Linda her glass of wine. "I'm sorry, Linda," I said. "This isn't how it was supposed to turn out."

"It's okay, Jim. It isn't your fault, and it was fun looking forward to what you had planned for us. Besides, if nothing else, I got a new party dress out of it."

"Which I haven't seen yet."

"You know the rule: you don't see it until you take me out in it." I looked at her, trying to imagine what she had bought, and how she would look in it. Linda isn't classically beautiful, but she has an innate sense of style: everything she wears not only looks great on her, it reflects who she is. She started making her own clothes in middle school, and still does from time to time when she can't find "just the right thing" in the stores. She makes many of Emma's dress-up clothes, too. Anyone lucky enough to see her when she's dressed up would think she's the most attractive woman in the room, but would trouble figuring out why, because there would be hotter women there. They would be thinking, "There's just something about her, I'd like to get to know her," not so much "Boy, I'd give a month's salary to get a piece of that." I saw that when I first met her, and I've had no reason to change my mind. I looked at the diamond I'd placed on her finger almost ten years before, as it flashed in the firelight.

"Thank you for saying yes, Linda. I love you." I raised my glass. "To us."

"I love you, too. To us," she responded with a smile. We sat for a moment, comfortably silent.

"Linda, I'm sorry I've been so touchy these last few days. It's nothing you or the kids have done, and you deserve better from me. It's just this damn February, and this..."

"I know, Jim. I'm sorry, too; I've been just as bad. I think the hibernating bears have the right idea. We really should be sleeping until spring. We've all been on edge, even the kids. The people at my work are a lot worse than you, though. What about your work?"

"The same."

"Well, look at it this way, Jim. We have each other, we have the kids, we have our home, we know where our next meal is coming from..."

"Yeah, Wendy's."

She laughed. Our first date was a running joke between us. I had met Linda in college. My parents had had to cut off my support to pay my dad's health bills, and I refused to take out loans, so after tuition and books I literally had no money. Linda was a little better off, and had offered to treat me or go Dutch, but I wasn't having any of that, so I was saving up to take her someplace nice. She had told me I was silly and said the object was to spend time together and get to know each other, and we could do that just as easily at Wendy's. So that's where we had gone, and the rest was history. We've moved up in class since then, but we still get Wendy's now and then for old times' sake.

"Seriously, though," I said. "How do people get through times like this if they don't have love?"

"Sometimes they don't." Linda shuddered. A high school boyfriend of hers had killed himself with booze and pills on Valentine's Day night a couple of years before.

"Well, we do, and we will." I put down my glass and took both of her hands in mine. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

"Happy Valentine's Day, my beloved husband." We gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, then decided we really should move this to the bedroom.

We ended up getting the three-day weekend the editorial writers thought we should have, courtesy of about two feet of snow instead of the predicted eight inches. Everything was closed, of course, but hardly anyone lost power, and enough people had snowmobiles that anyone who really had to get somewhere could. All right, so the kid from up the street probably didn't have any places he had to be or any other excuse for making all that racket and throwing rooster tails everywhere, but he ran out of gasoline Saturday afternoon and his parents wouldn't give him any more. He didn't bother anyone after that.

Our kids, of course, were ecstatic. Mom and Dad were both home all day, there was snow to play in and pizza to eat and movies to watch, not to mention no school. What more could they want? Linda and I were pretty happy about the situation, too. There was no pressure to be anywhere or do anything, and we could enjoy our family to our hearts' content. Food wasn't a worry: Linda and I both grew up around here, so we always made sure we had plenty in advance with some to share, just in case. Emma and Tommy tired themselves out enough that they didn't even make a fuss about going to bed, and slept like logs. Which allowed Linda and me to content our hearts in ways for which we usually had to send the kids out of the house. There were only a couple of things wrong that weekend, as far as I was concerned. We had hundreds of movies in the house, but the kids would only watch one. Frozen. Over and over and over again. Okay, it's a sweet little story, and has some good songs, but come on! And Linda still wouldn't model the dress for me, or even let me see it.

"Taking me out in it means out, not in," she said, with a flirty little smile.

"What if I promise to take you out of it? Is that close enough?"

"Nice try, but nope." She wouldn't budge, darn it.

The real world returned early Sunday evening when the plows came through our neighborhood. School and work were on for Monday, and there was sighing from both kids and kids at heart as we got ready. Just before bedtime, Emma and Tommy marched into the living room, freshly scrubbed and in their night clothes. Big sister was the spokesperson, of course, standing as straight and tall as she could.

"Mommy, Daddy, this weekend was the best ever! Thank you for playing with us, and watching our movie with us, and all being together for three whole days in a row. We love you." With that, Daddy's girl climbed into my lap and Mommy's boy into Linda's. After giving us the sweetest kid-hugs in the world, they switched parents and did it again. I looked over at Linda and her eyes were as wet as mine.

"We love you, too," I managed to croak out. "We're so glad that you're our kids."

Linda and I didn't do anything extraordinary that night, unless making sweet love until we felt like we merged into one being counts. We couldn't wipe the smiles off our faces the next morning, and neither could the kids. Beastly February settled back in, though, and the three-day weekend faded into memory. Even our normally even-tempered kids were quarrelsome.

Linda and I had just collapsed against each other in the sofa in the living room after finally getting Emma and Tommy down for the night, when Linda's phone rang. I growled and muttered something.

"It's Dee, I have to pick up," she said apologetically. We had a loose circle of five couples that we hung out or went out with from time to time. We had all met as married couples, so there were no uncomfortable "back when you were single" moments. We all had the same ideas about fidelity: namely, you just did it, it wasn't questionable or negotiable. That way when we went out, we could dance with each other's spouses if we wanted some variety, and know we were safe. We were closest to Dee and her husband Dave; she and Linda were almost best friends. Linda made an "I'll keep this short" gesture as she answered the phone.

I could see Linda getting more excited as she talked with Dee. She was all but glowing when she ended the call and plopped herself into my lap.

"So what was that all about?" My face couldn't help reflecting her smile.

"Well, dear husband," she smirked at me, "I know you think this horrible February has gone on just about long enough."

"I'll drink to that," I said, reaching for my glass of wine. Linda seized my wrist to stop me, and firmly placed my hand on her slender waist. Much better idea.

"Well, we've been bemoaning the fact that not only is this the worst February in the history of the human race, we have to put up with an extra day of it."

That didn't add up with the smile on her face. I told her so.

"That's because Dee had this wonderful idea. The extra day of horribleness is on a Friday. What if we all got together, got sitters for the kids, had a really nice dinner, then some dancing at a good club, and then had hotel rooms for the night? That way we could get a little bit crazy and not worry about driving home, and we would end this horrid month right."

"What about getting from the club back to the hotel? Wouldn't we have to drive?" I'm always the guy who asks what can possibly go wrong with a plan. I know it's not fun, but I really can't help it. I'm like that naturally, and it's reinforced by the job I do.

"That's the best part, Jim. You know the Madison uptown? We've eaten there, remember? There's a dance club some of Dave's co-workers go to in the next block over. They'll have a live band Friday night, and there's no cover if you ate at the Madison! Oh, and Phil and Jane have already asked Mrs. Porter to take their kids overnight, and they say she's fine with ours, too."

"Hmmm, I have to think about this..." I didn't really, but I was hoping that if I stalled, Linda would use one of her patented, guaranteed-not-to-fail Female Persuasion Methods to convince me. Instead, she seized a sofa pillow and bashed me over the head with it.

"Ow! Okay, I've thought. Let's do this. But there's one condition."

"What's that?" Linda was looking at me suspiciously. I took her sweet face between my hands, and looked into her blue eyes.

"You wear the dress you bought for Valentine's Day, that I still haven't seen."

"Your wish is my command." Her voice was husky and her eyes were smoky and she was irresistible and I wasn't interested in resisting anyway.

It was blue. The dress. I can't describe what kind of blue it was; guys can only see eight colors anyway. True fact. All I can tell you is whatever blue it was, it made her blue eyes look like they would glow in the dark. It was long sleeved and high necked, and the skirt came below her knees, but it was anything but a granny dress. The bottom of the skirt was flared, and rippled just enough as she walked to attract attention. When she danced, it would flirt all on its own. The smooth, tight but not too tight, fabric made you want to run your hands all over it, as it concealed and displayed the slim, womanly shape beneath. Linda smiled as she slowly processed down the stairs to where I waited for her, dumbstruck and gaping.

"Dear Jim," she said, softly and sweetly. She closed my mouth with a gentle finger under my chin. I swallowed, but still couldn't speak.

"It's still just me, the same old me as always. You don't have to flatter me, though I admit I love it when you do."

I shook my head and found my voice. "You don't understand. You don't know just how amazing you look. You..." Words failed me. I took her slim, long-fingered hands in both of mine, bowed over them, and kissed them. I looked up to see her eyes shining and moist, and saw the slightest tremble in her smile. I nodded. She understood.

The ten of us met at the restaurant. It was crowded on a Friday night, but we had reserved a large enough table that all ten of us could eat together. We laughed and talked and enjoyed a great meal, happy in each other's company and glad that February was finally ending. Linda was the most attractive woman in the room, and I must have told her so a half dozen times. I touched her arm or her shoulder or her hand as often as I could find a reasonable excuse. She returned the favor and smiled into my eyes. This was going to be a night to remember.

We checked into our rooms before we headed over to the club. Neither Linda nor I handles alcohol very well, so I usually drew designated driver duties. I was glad I wouldn't have to do that tonight. Not that I minded; my friends' safety was important to me, but I was looking forward to having Linda to myself as soon as possible. That seemed to be her idea, too. She excused herself to go to our room alone for a few minutes, and had her suggestive little "I'm gonna get you so good" smile on her face when she came back.

"We don't really have to spend very long at the club, do we?" she whispered to me as we walked. I knew how much Linda enjoyed dancing with our friends, so she might as well have said "I'd better not have to wait too long before we're alone together, preferably naked." I grinned right back at her.

"Your call, babe." She punched my upper arm lightly, then wrapped her hands around it and hung on.

We'd reserved a table for ten at the club, and it was a good thing we had. It seems a lot of other people were busy forgetting February, but they weren't too busy to notice the five women in our group.

"You're attracting a lot of attention, babe," I whispered to Linda. "You're the most attractive woman in the room, as usual."

"Oh, you." She looked up at me, lightly pressing a soft breast into my arm. "You don't have to say those things, even though I like hearing them."

"But I do have to," I responded. "Truth is truth, after all. You can't have opinions about truth." Yeah, I know that's faulty logic, but neither of us cared just then. She got the point, and glowed even brighter.

Neither Linda nor I is a great dancer, but we don't disgrace ourselves, either. We just don't care that much: we're out there to enjoy each other, not to provide entertainment. So I danced with the love of my life, with occasional breaks for hot wings and a drink. I had gone to replenish the wings; when I came back, Dave was asking Linda to dance. I heard her response.

"I'd love to, Dave, and I would another time, but I want to make tonight special for Jim and me. I'm only dancing with him tonight."

Was I proud? Happy? You'd better believe it. I distributed the wings and whispered into Linda's ear.

"So is it time to leave yet?"

"Right after you brought a fresh plate of wings? What are you thinking? We'll both need our energy for what I have planned." She gave me that look again, and held my hand under the table.