My Night Out with the Girls

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.

An hour into the evening Karen dropped the bomb. "I hope the boys get here soon. I'm ready to get this party started!" That was new. When men saw a table of women sitting alone and came over to introduce themselves that was one thing. If it was the same men as a few weeks before, that was just a bit more pleasant and the conversation flowed more easily. Planning a rendezvous and a night of partying is something entirely different.

"What are you planning for tonight, Karen?"

"Oh, Cheryl, I don't make plans! I just create opportunity and let the fun happen!"

I was putting on my best fake smile, but I was thinking it was going to be an early night for this married woman. "Well, I think I'll get on home before I have another drink and can't drive myself."

"Oh, no you don't! This is all for you, Cheryl." It was Barbara, one of the other married women who seem to forget her husband at Happy Hour.

"What do you mean by that, Barb?"

"I mean that Tony is coming specifically for you. He's bringing four of his friends for us. You've met most of them, but Tony is coming just for you."

"What do you mean he's coming just for me? I'm married, remember?"

"I remember, now you try to forget." That got the other girls laughing.

"What did you four plan for tonight?" I was losing my pleasant façade.

"Fun, girl, and it's about time you had some! The boys have taken rooms across the street. We're going to eat a little, drink a lot, dance our feet off, and then..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have the chance. I was on my feet, dropped some bills on the table, and started for the door. Karen caught up with me before I got to the door. "What is wrong with you? Just call your husband, tell him you've had too much to drink and you're sleeping at my place tonight, and then have yourself some fun for a change."

I slapped her across her face so hard I almost slapped the stupid off her, but the stupid ran deep in this one and I failed.

"What is your problem, bitch? I'm just trying to liven up your boring married life!"

I raised my hand a second time and she recoiled. She knew enough to keep her mouth shut after that.

As I walked out of the bar I saw our five dates walking toward the door. Tony saw me and reached out to grab my arm. "Cheryl, where are you going? The party is just getting started."

"Your party is getting started. Mine is over. I'm going home." He held onto my arm. That was a mistake.

"Don't be that way! We have a great night planned. Come on back in..." and he tried to turn me by my arm. I took a step closer to him, got up close to his face, and I drove the heel of my shoe into his toes. Three inch spiked heels can do a lot of damage to a man's toes. He screamed, let go of my arm, and shouted "You bitch!"

That was twice in one night! I put on my best look of mock surprise and said, "Oh, Tony! If you feel that way about me, then I'll just leave." I walked toward my car with muffled insults thrown in my direction. I couldn't help but smile. Did that dumbass really think I'd hop in the sack with him? And for what? Did he think he had something magical between his legs that I couldn't find at home?

I got home a little after eight. Bob was sitting at the dining room table helping our son and daughter with their homework. "How was girls' night out?"

"It wasn't much fun. I don't think I'll be going again."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You work hard and you need a little time to unwind."

"Give me a chance to wash my face and change my clothes, and then I'll unwind with the three of you. How is the math homework coming?"

Bob looked at me in mild desperation. "They don't believe me. I don't do it the way their teachers do it."

I laughed my way to the bedroom, washed my face, put on some comfortable sweats and an old shirt, then settled down to an evening of math and English homework. Brownies and milk may have figured into the evening at some point. Once the kids were put to bed and the stories read I dragged my husband to our own bed and I attacked him like I'd just been paroled from prison. Fortunately, he was up to the task. That's the thing about accountants - right to left, top to bottom, they are always very thorough. Bob was uncommonly thorough that night and I made sure he checked everything at least twice.

The kids were pounding on our door in the morning until we finally dragged ourselves out of bed and prepared breakfast. Their friend's parents picked them up and they headed off for their Saturday adventures. "The lawn needs to be mowed today and I need to fix that window lock." With that, my husband took me by the hand and started walking me toward the bedroom.

"I thought you said the lawn needed mowing?"

"Yes, it does, but I need to shower first." With that, my husband smiled at me. The shower took two hours. Actually, it was a shower, then some deep probing of our marital commitment, followed by another shower. I swear he was trying to get me back into bed when I promised him we'd pick up where we left off later that night.

I spent the day doing chores around the house, fixed lunch for the two of us, and welcomed the kids back home. It was a lovely day and a very satisfying night. Once or twice that day I did think back to Happy Hour and Karen's comment to me. It's about time I had some fun? Sure. Every married woman needs a little fun. My big fun was busy putting away the mower and taking a quick shower while my two little funs were washing their little hands before dinner. Later, my big fun would be meeting me in our bedroom to renew our marital romance while our little funs slept. I have lots of fun in my life and I'd have to be a fool to risk it for the unknown.

The next week I had a little conversation with my coworkers. I explained to them that the cheating lifestyle was not for me. I told them I wasn't judging them (I lied - I was judging them every way to Sunday), but if they ever tried to set me up again I'd go straight to their husbands and spill my guts. I wasn't very popular for a while, but eventually they respected my wishes. I quietly suggested to the single girls that they are known by the company they keep and if they wanted to find a man who loved and respected them then hanging around with cheats wasn't going to help them at all. I think they got the message.

The future isn't difficult to predict sometimes. Within a year, two of those married women who want to think they are single were. They weren't fooling anyone and their husbands caught them easily enough. The single girls got a first-hand lesson in the seriousness of marriage and all took the pledge to know the difference between single and married once their time came. And I, well, I had two kids who were a year older and a husband who smiled and kissed me every morning before we got up. I had exactly what I wanted and I didn't mind telling anyone who asked. I suppose the young girls can still learn a little something from an old, I mean experienced, married woman like me.