Annette stared around the empty room. She looked at the little blue clock on the wall which had its crooked hands marking 1:20. It had been 1:19 the last time that she had checked it; time just wouldn’t move. Why wasn’t he home? He had promised that he would be home early this time.
John had been coming home later and later every night from his job at the law firm. He always said that he was swamped with work, but Annette no longer knew what to believe. Tonight he had promised that he would be home in time to help her put the kids to bed, clean up that house, do all of the thing that are neglected in a house where both parents work and one of them doesn’t get home until 1 am. Something wasn’t right.
Annette sighed and decided that it was time for her to try to get some sleep. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to, but it was worth a try; she had to at least try. She got up from the chair she had been sitting at in the kitchen, waiting, and began to walk slowly into the bedroom down the hall. Just then, the front door creaked quietly open and was shut softly behind a man with dark circles under his eyes and a grim, stern face. John was home.
“Where have you been?” Annette whispered coldly. She felt like screaming at him, but didn’t want to wake the children. It had been hard enough getting them to sleep the first time.
“Out,” John replied. The sound of that one, plain word was enough to make Annette want to vomit. He hadn’t even been working. He had just been out, out with some floozy no doubt.
“Out?” she threw back at him angrily.
“That’s right.”
“I thought we talked about this kind of thing,” Annette cried out in exasperation.
“We have,” he replied bluntly. There was no hint of emotion in his voice.
“And –"
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Tension was growing in the room between the two who had once been so in love.
“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” Annette whispered, her voice softening and tears filling her tired eyes.
“Go ahead.” Again, a blunt, sarcastic reply.
“That doesn’t help… You said you would help at least…” he had promised that he would help her to understand what was going on at the firm so that she would never feel that he didn’t love her, that he didn’t care. It was obvious now that that promise had been long forgotten.
John thought for a moment then shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sure.”
“Ok,” Annette threw her hands in the air as she spoke, “That’s what I’m talking about.” She reached for her jacket off of the hook that it was placed so carefully on.
“What’s what you’re talking about?” John’s voice began to crack. He was getting worried.
“That I just can’t deal with this kind of…” Her voice trailed as she looked at him. He had begun pacing around the room. It was certain now. He was nervous, and he only got nervous when he had done something terribly wrong. “Forget it,” she mumbled.
“What?” A thin layer of sweat was gathering on his brow.
“Forget it.” Annette began making her way to the door. John was looking at her as though he were puzzled at why she would go. If he couldn’t figure it out himself then they had nothing more to talk about. “Nothing, I’m leaving.” She replied to his raised eyebrow. She opened the door quickly. This was it. She was finally freeing herself from her awful marriage, from her husband who didn’t love her anymore. She wished that she didn’t still love him.
“Don’t…” It was a faint whisper, but he had still said it. He had shown some sign that he still cared. It wasn’t enough though.
“Well?” she was waiting for some huge apology that she knew would never happen, but if he said anything more, anything kind or at least caring, anything to show her that he still cared she may be willing to give him another chance. She still had her back to him with the door held wide open. She couldn’t bear look at the stern face that she had gotten so used to over the past few months. It used to be so gentle and full of life, but all of that was gone now.
“Just don’t go…” His voice was gentle, wavering, and filled with the deepest kind of sorrow. She turned around and looked at him. He had tears in his eyes and they were staring at her, pleading.
“No?” She was surprised to her that her voice was gentle as well.
“No,” came the plead again.
Annette wanted to rush to him, to embrace him and tell him all of the things that she had been longing to for so long, but she restrained herself. Instead she softly closed the door, walked over to the table and handed John the tissue box. This was good enough for him. His expression softened and the tears slowly faded away.
Annette made her way to the bedroom with John following right behind her. They hadn’t slept in the same bed in so long. She laid down on her side of the bed without saying a word and felt it sway as his body crept in beside her. Then, to her utter shock, she felt warm, strong arms embracing her; holding her as though they would never let go. He was back, her sweet husband was back, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The Double (Revised Again) | Marjorie Riches
Everyone loves double dates. Who wouldn’t? Getting together as friends or couples always makes for a good time. The atmosphere is low key and there is someone of the same sex to bounce ideas off of. The women have someone to have "potty parties" with so they are able to gossip and fix their hair and makeup and make sure that their shirt is fitting just the way they want it to. Double dates are just great.
Tonight I went on one such date with my good friend John and the two lovely ladies we met at the club last night. I live in Vegas, the city of lights, and sometimes I just want toget away from all of the glamour, and the gambling, and the downright crap that goes on. But I can't. No one can. Once you are in Vegas you are stuck in the swirl of the hazy drunken social life and besides where would I go, Utah? Ha. I'll stay where I'm at.
As I was saying, I went on a double date tonight; my date’s name was Jessica. Her shirt was hanging off of her like a window drape, barely keeping the light out. I knew she had done it for me, wanting me to see what I had the chance to get tonight--I wasn't impressed. John's date was somewhat less scantily clad, a short, blonde girl named Heather. I could tell from the way that he wouldn't stop talking that he must like her a lot. I couldn't say that she felt the same way, but hey, who can read women?
John and I had decided ahead of time to take our lovely ladies to the Cheesecake Factory. It was nice, but not nice enough to tell them that we are made of money, because we most definitely are not. John and I always decide where we are going to go before we go on dates (which we do quite often) and we base this off of where we think the date will end up. If we think we have a future with the women, we will take them to a place like where we were going tonight, nice but not too nice. If we knew that they were trashy and didn’t care if the food they were eating had been rubbed on the floor and spat in before it reached them, we didn’t waste our money and went to a crap hole. If the dates were hot, and high maintenance and we knew that we would get some action from them but no relationship, we would spend a little more and go all out; a little money is well worth the action. But tonight, John thought he might have a future with Heather.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant enough, although no one but John was talking at all. He was going a million miles an hour. I don't even think he knew what he was talking about. I heard something about radios and a couple of minutes later he was going off about airplanes. I wondered if he realized that no one was listening to him and his date was staring at him like he was a rotting, dead fish. I laughed to myself at his stupidity. He always did this.
My date and I were in the backseat of John's Chevy Malibu. We were sitting on either side of the car, as far away from each other as physically possible. If I had been slightly interested in her it would have made this whole date thing easier, but I wasn't. I was only on this date because John really liked this girl, but he always gets nervous when he is alone with a woman. It’s not like me being there made it any better though, which was unfortunate for all of us. I felt bad for him. John is a really great guy, but he sucks at being anything other than clinically insane around women. This girl had at least agreed to go on a date with him which was farther than he usually got.
We arrived at the restaurant and I could see the great relief on everyone’s faces. Restaurants give you something to talk about: the menu, the drinks, or the ridiculous people that are always seated right across from you talking so loudly that you can hear every word. We were seated upstairs by an older couple who hadn't quite reached the 1970s yet. I was sure that they would be very interesting.
Our waiter was an extremely energetic man --too energetic. I couldn't figure out if he was gay or not. He walked like it with his hips swaying displaying his disgusting buttocks like it was some kind of trophy. He talked like it, and he even held his hand up in front of his chest when he was talking. On all counts he was gay; there was just one thing. He had a wedding ring on. Now I know it’s legal in some states for gay marriage, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I decided that I would just avoid being too friendly which he made difficult by bouncing around and catering to our every need. One thing is for sure, I am straight as a whistle. I do not fraternize with homos.
We ordered our meals after a few minutes of looking over the menu. Both girls ordered salads (no surprise there) while us men ordered real food. I'm not a big salad eater, or exerciser, or stay in shape kind of person. I am pleasantly plump and proud of it. I enjoy my food the way it is supposed to be enjoyed, unlike my date who looks as though she has been anorexic for some time now.
Maybe that's why I wasn't impressed by her incredibly showy top. I like a woman with a little meat on her bones. I like her to show that she likes to eat, but that she can still go out and have a little fun. Not too fat, not too thin, that’s the way I like them. Plus, I know that if a woman is a little bigger she is a good cook, and that is very important to me.
After we ordered our food, John continued to rant about who knows what. To his own demise the atmosphere didn't change at all from what it had been in the car. I was getting bored. When I get bored, I do things-- not normal things, but things that are risky and will get me in a little trouble. I’m a nice guy though so I always think about my friends feelings first. Right then I was thinking that John had already hung himself and that he absolutely did not have a future with this girl. So I looked my date right in the face and said it.
"So how long have you had the disease?"
She looked at me, confused. "Excuse me?"
"The disease -you know- anorexia," I said blatantly. She looked appalled and didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. "Don't try to tell me that you were actually going to eat the salad you ordered,” I continued, “Your kind never do. You order it, make the poor man you are using that night pay for it, pick at it, then run off and see how much skinnier you got from starving yourself another night." She looked furious, Heather shocked, and John like he had just discovered electricity. He knew exactly where I was going with this. You see, when I know that a date is going poorly, for both of us of course, I throw a twist in things and see how long it will take the girls to leave so that we can kick back and have a beer. I figured these girls wouldn't be hard to bust. I was right. Moments later my date, looking like a donkey had kicked her in the face, stood up, shoved her seat back and glared at me.
"I am NOT anorexic. You are just saying that because you are fat." And with that she stormed off. Heather took her cue and quickly stood up, giving us a look that couldn’t scare a field mouse, and followed. When they were safely out of earshot, John burst out laughing.
"You've never tried that one before...fatty." And he punched me in the shoulder. We had a good chuckle over the night’s events and stayed at the restaurant for an hour or so more, just drinking and laughing at the look on that girl's face. Moments like that are priceless. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that someday John and I are both going to meet wonderful women and fall in love, but until then, kicking back just us boys and having a beer is better than any double date.
Tonight I went on one such date with my good friend John and the two lovely ladies we met at the club last night. I live in Vegas, the city of lights, and sometimes I just want toget away from all of the glamour, and the gambling, and the downright crap that goes on. But I can't. No one can. Once you are in Vegas you are stuck in the swirl of the hazy drunken social life and besides where would I go, Utah? Ha. I'll stay where I'm at.
As I was saying, I went on a double date tonight; my date’s name was Jessica. Her shirt was hanging off of her like a window drape, barely keeping the light out. I knew she had done it for me, wanting me to see what I had the chance to get tonight--I wasn't impressed. John's date was somewhat less scantily clad, a short, blonde girl named Heather. I could tell from the way that he wouldn't stop talking that he must like her a lot. I couldn't say that she felt the same way, but hey, who can read women?
John and I had decided ahead of time to take our lovely ladies to the Cheesecake Factory. It was nice, but not nice enough to tell them that we are made of money, because we most definitely are not. John and I always decide where we are going to go before we go on dates (which we do quite often) and we base this off of where we think the date will end up. If we think we have a future with the women, we will take them to a place like where we were going tonight, nice but not too nice. If we knew that they were trashy and didn’t care if the food they were eating had been rubbed on the floor and spat in before it reached them, we didn’t waste our money and went to a crap hole. If the dates were hot, and high maintenance and we knew that we would get some action from them but no relationship, we would spend a little more and go all out; a little money is well worth the action. But tonight, John thought he might have a future with Heather.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant enough, although no one but John was talking at all. He was going a million miles an hour. I don't even think he knew what he was talking about. I heard something about radios and a couple of minutes later he was going off about airplanes. I wondered if he realized that no one was listening to him and his date was staring at him like he was a rotting, dead fish. I laughed to myself at his stupidity. He always did this.
My date and I were in the backseat of John's Chevy Malibu. We were sitting on either side of the car, as far away from each other as physically possible. If I had been slightly interested in her it would have made this whole date thing easier, but I wasn't. I was only on this date because John really liked this girl, but he always gets nervous when he is alone with a woman. It’s not like me being there made it any better though, which was unfortunate for all of us. I felt bad for him. John is a really great guy, but he sucks at being anything other than clinically insane around women. This girl had at least agreed to go on a date with him which was farther than he usually got.
We arrived at the restaurant and I could see the great relief on everyone’s faces. Restaurants give you something to talk about: the menu, the drinks, or the ridiculous people that are always seated right across from you talking so loudly that you can hear every word. We were seated upstairs by an older couple who hadn't quite reached the 1970s yet. I was sure that they would be very interesting.
Our waiter was an extremely energetic man --too energetic. I couldn't figure out if he was gay or not. He walked like it with his hips swaying displaying his disgusting buttocks like it was some kind of trophy. He talked like it, and he even held his hand up in front of his chest when he was talking. On all counts he was gay; there was just one thing. He had a wedding ring on. Now I know it’s legal in some states for gay marriage, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I decided that I would just avoid being too friendly which he made difficult by bouncing around and catering to our every need. One thing is for sure, I am straight as a whistle. I do not fraternize with homos.
We ordered our meals after a few minutes of looking over the menu. Both girls ordered salads (no surprise there) while us men ordered real food. I'm not a big salad eater, or exerciser, or stay in shape kind of person. I am pleasantly plump and proud of it. I enjoy my food the way it is supposed to be enjoyed, unlike my date who looks as though she has been anorexic for some time now.
Maybe that's why I wasn't impressed by her incredibly showy top. I like a woman with a little meat on her bones. I like her to show that she likes to eat, but that she can still go out and have a little fun. Not too fat, not too thin, that’s the way I like them. Plus, I know that if a woman is a little bigger she is a good cook, and that is very important to me.
After we ordered our food, John continued to rant about who knows what. To his own demise the atmosphere didn't change at all from what it had been in the car. I was getting bored. When I get bored, I do things-- not normal things, but things that are risky and will get me in a little trouble. I’m a nice guy though so I always think about my friends feelings first. Right then I was thinking that John had already hung himself and that he absolutely did not have a future with this girl. So I looked my date right in the face and said it.
"So how long have you had the disease?"
She looked at me, confused. "Excuse me?"
"The disease -you know- anorexia," I said blatantly. She looked appalled and didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. "Don't try to tell me that you were actually going to eat the salad you ordered,” I continued, “Your kind never do. You order it, make the poor man you are using that night pay for it, pick at it, then run off and see how much skinnier you got from starving yourself another night." She looked furious, Heather shocked, and John like he had just discovered electricity. He knew exactly where I was going with this. You see, when I know that a date is going poorly, for both of us of course, I throw a twist in things and see how long it will take the girls to leave so that we can kick back and have a beer. I figured these girls wouldn't be hard to bust. I was right. Moments later my date, looking like a donkey had kicked her in the face, stood up, shoved her seat back and glared at me.
"I am NOT anorexic. You are just saying that because you are fat." And with that she stormed off. Heather took her cue and quickly stood up, giving us a look that couldn’t scare a field mouse, and followed. When they were safely out of earshot, John burst out laughing.
"You've never tried that one before...fatty." And he punched me in the shoulder. We had a good chuckle over the night’s events and stayed at the restaurant for an hour or so more, just drinking and laughing at the look on that girl's face. Moments like that are priceless. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that someday John and I are both going to meet wonderful women and fall in love, but until then, kicking back just us boys and having a beer is better than any double date.
The Double (Revised) | Marjorie Riches
Everyone loves double dates. Who wouldn’t? Getting together as friends or couples always makes a good time. The atmosphere is low key and you have someone of the same sex to bounce ideas off of. The women have someone to have "potty parties" with so they are able to go gossip and fix their hair and makeup and make sure that their shirt is fitting just the way they want it to. Double dates are just great.
Tonight I went on one such date with my good friend John and the two lovely ladies we met at the club last night. I live in Vegas, the city of lights, and sometimes I just want toget away from all of the glamour, and the gambling, and the downright crap that goes on. But I can't. No one can. Once you are in Vegas you are stuck in the swirl of the hazy drunken social life and besides where would I go, Utah? Ha. I'll stay where I'm at.
So as I was saying, I went on a double date tonight. My date’s name was Jessica and her shirt was hanging off of her like a window drape, barely keeping the light out. I knew she had done it for me, wanting me to see what I had the chance to get tonight--I wasn't impressed. John's date was somewhat less scantily clad, a short, blonde girl named Heather. I could tell from the way that he wouldn't stop talking that he must like her a lot. I couldn't say that she felt the same way, but hey, who can read women.
John and I had decided ahead of time to take our lovely ladies to the Cheesecake Factory. It was nice, but not nice enough to tell them that are made of money, because we most definitely are not. John and I always decide where we are going to go before we go on dates (which we do quite often) and we base this off of where we think the date will end up. If we think we have a future with the women, we will take them to a place like where we were going tonight, nice but not too nice. If we knew that they were trashy and didn’t care if the food they were eating had been rubbed on the floor and spat in before it reached them, we didn’t waste our money and went to a crap hole. If the dates were hot, and high maintenance and we knew that we would get some action from them but no relationship, we would spend a little more and go all out. A little money was worth the action. But tonight, John thought he might have a future with Heather.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant enough, although no one but John was talking at all. He was going a million miles an hour. I don't even think he knew what he was talking about. I heard something about radios and a couple of minutes later he was going off about airplanes. I wondered if he realized that no one was listening to him and his date was staring at him like he was a rotting, dead fish. I laughed to myself at his stupidity. He always did this.
My date and I were in the backseat of John's Chevy Malibu. We were sitting on either side of the car, as far away from each other as physically possible. If I had been slightly interested in her it would have made this whole date thing easier, but I wasn't. I was only on this date because John really liked this girl, but he always gets nervous when he is alone with a woman. It’s not like me being there made it any better though, which was unfortunate for all of us. I felt bad for him. John is a really great guy. He just sucks at being anything but clinically insane around women. This girl had at least agreed to go on a date with him which was farther than he usually got.
We arrived at the restaurant and I could see the great relief in everyone’s faces. At restaurants there is always something to talk about whether it is the menu, or the drinks, or the ridiculous people that are always seated right across from you talking so loudly that you can hear every word. We were seated upstairs by an older couple who hadn't quite reached the 1970s yet. I was sure that they would be very interesting.
Our waiter was an extremely energetic man --too energetic. I couldn't figure out if he was gay or not. He walked like it with his hips swaying displaying his disgusting buttocks like it was some kind of trophy. He talked like it, and he even held his hand up in front of his chest when he was talking. On all counts he wasgay; there was just one thing. He had a wedding ring on. Now I know it’s legal in some states for gay marriage, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I decided that I would just avoid being too friendly which he made difficult by bouncing around and catering to our every need. One thing is for sure, I am straight as a whistle. I do not fraternize with homos.
We ordered our meals after a few minutes of pouring over the menu. Both girls ordering salads (no surprise there) while us men ordered real food. I'm not a big salad eater, or exerciser, or stay in shape kind of person in any sense of it. I am pleasantly plump and proud of it. I enjoy my food the way it is supposed to be enjoyed. Unlike my date who looks as though she has been anorexic for some time now.
Maybe that's why I wasn't impressed by her incredibly showy top. I like a woman with a little meat on her bones. I like her to show that she likes to eat, but that she can still have a little fun if you know what I mean. Plus, I know that if a woman is a little bigger she is a good cook, and that is very important to me.
After we ordered our, which I was looking forward to very much, John continued to rant about who knows what. To his own demise the atmosphere didn't change at all from what it had been in the car. I was getting bored. When I get bored, I do things. Not normal things, but things that are risky and will get me in a little trouble. I always think about my friends feelings first of course, and right then I was thinking that John had already hung himself and that he did not have a future with this girl.
So I looked my date right in the face and said it. "So how long have you had the disease?"
She looked at me, confused. "Excuse me?"
"The disease, you know, anorexia," I said blatantly. She looked appalled and didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. "Don't try to tell me that you were actually going to eat the salad you ordered. Your kind never do. You order it, make the poor man you are using that night pay for it, don't touch it, then run off and see how much skinnier you got from starving yourself another night." She looked furious, her friend shocked, and John like he had just discovered electricity. He knew exactly where I was going with this. You see, when I know that a date is going poorly, for both of us of course, I throw a twist in things and see how long it will take the girls to leave so that we can kick back and have a beer. I figured these girls wouldn't be hard to bust. I was right. Moments later, my date, looking like a donkey had kicked her in the face, stood up, shoved her seat back and glared at me.
"I am NOT anorexic. You are just saying that because you are fat." And with that she stormed off. Heather took her cue and quickly stood up, giving John and I a look that couldn’t scare a field mouse, and followed. When they were safely out of earshot, John burst out laughing.
"You've never tried that one before...fatty." And he punched me in the shoulder.
We had a good chuckle over the night’s events and stayed at the restaurant for an hour or so more, just drinking and laughing at the look on that girl's face. Moments like that are priceless. Now I wholeheartedly believe that someday John and I are both going to meet wonderful women and fall in love, but until then, kicking back as just the boys and having a beer is better than any double date.
Tonight I went on one such date with my good friend John and the two lovely ladies we met at the club last night. I live in Vegas, the city of lights, and sometimes I just want toget away from all of the glamour, and the gambling, and the downright crap that goes on. But I can't. No one can. Once you are in Vegas you are stuck in the swirl of the hazy drunken social life and besides where would I go, Utah? Ha. I'll stay where I'm at.
So as I was saying, I went on a double date tonight. My date’s name was Jessica and her shirt was hanging off of her like a window drape, barely keeping the light out. I knew she had done it for me, wanting me to see what I had the chance to get tonight--I wasn't impressed. John's date was somewhat less scantily clad, a short, blonde girl named Heather. I could tell from the way that he wouldn't stop talking that he must like her a lot. I couldn't say that she felt the same way, but hey, who can read women.
John and I had decided ahead of time to take our lovely ladies to the Cheesecake Factory. It was nice, but not nice enough to tell them that are made of money, because we most definitely are not. John and I always decide where we are going to go before we go on dates (which we do quite often) and we base this off of where we think the date will end up. If we think we have a future with the women, we will take them to a place like where we were going tonight, nice but not too nice. If we knew that they were trashy and didn’t care if the food they were eating had been rubbed on the floor and spat in before it reached them, we didn’t waste our money and went to a crap hole. If the dates were hot, and high maintenance and we knew that we would get some action from them but no relationship, we would spend a little more and go all out. A little money was worth the action. But tonight, John thought he might have a future with Heather.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant enough, although no one but John was talking at all. He was going a million miles an hour. I don't even think he knew what he was talking about. I heard something about radios and a couple of minutes later he was going off about airplanes. I wondered if he realized that no one was listening to him and his date was staring at him like he was a rotting, dead fish. I laughed to myself at his stupidity. He always did this.
My date and I were in the backseat of John's Chevy Malibu. We were sitting on either side of the car, as far away from each other as physically possible. If I had been slightly interested in her it would have made this whole date thing easier, but I wasn't. I was only on this date because John really liked this girl, but he always gets nervous when he is alone with a woman. It’s not like me being there made it any better though, which was unfortunate for all of us. I felt bad for him. John is a really great guy. He just sucks at being anything but clinically insane around women. This girl had at least agreed to go on a date with him which was farther than he usually got.
We arrived at the restaurant and I could see the great relief in everyone’s faces. At restaurants there is always something to talk about whether it is the menu, or the drinks, or the ridiculous people that are always seated right across from you talking so loudly that you can hear every word. We were seated upstairs by an older couple who hadn't quite reached the 1970s yet. I was sure that they would be very interesting.
Our waiter was an extremely energetic man --too energetic. I couldn't figure out if he was gay or not. He walked like it with his hips swaying displaying his disgusting buttocks like it was some kind of trophy. He talked like it, and he even held his hand up in front of his chest when he was talking. On all counts he wasgay; there was just one thing. He had a wedding ring on. Now I know it’s legal in some states for gay marriage, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I decided that I would just avoid being too friendly which he made difficult by bouncing around and catering to our every need. One thing is for sure, I am straight as a whistle. I do not fraternize with homos.
We ordered our meals after a few minutes of pouring over the menu. Both girls ordering salads (no surprise there) while us men ordered real food. I'm not a big salad eater, or exerciser, or stay in shape kind of person in any sense of it. I am pleasantly plump and proud of it. I enjoy my food the way it is supposed to be enjoyed. Unlike my date who looks as though she has been anorexic for some time now.
Maybe that's why I wasn't impressed by her incredibly showy top. I like a woman with a little meat on her bones. I like her to show that she likes to eat, but that she can still have a little fun if you know what I mean. Plus, I know that if a woman is a little bigger she is a good cook, and that is very important to me.
After we ordered our, which I was looking forward to very much, John continued to rant about who knows what. To his own demise the atmosphere didn't change at all from what it had been in the car. I was getting bored. When I get bored, I do things. Not normal things, but things that are risky and will get me in a little trouble. I always think about my friends feelings first of course, and right then I was thinking that John had already hung himself and that he did not have a future with this girl.
So I looked my date right in the face and said it. "So how long have you had the disease?"
She looked at me, confused. "Excuse me?"
"The disease, you know, anorexia," I said blatantly. She looked appalled and didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. "Don't try to tell me that you were actually going to eat the salad you ordered. Your kind never do. You order it, make the poor man you are using that night pay for it, don't touch it, then run off and see how much skinnier you got from starving yourself another night." She looked furious, her friend shocked, and John like he had just discovered electricity. He knew exactly where I was going with this. You see, when I know that a date is going poorly, for both of us of course, I throw a twist in things and see how long it will take the girls to leave so that we can kick back and have a beer. I figured these girls wouldn't be hard to bust. I was right. Moments later, my date, looking like a donkey had kicked her in the face, stood up, shoved her seat back and glared at me.
"I am NOT anorexic. You are just saying that because you are fat." And with that she stormed off. Heather took her cue and quickly stood up, giving John and I a look that couldn’t scare a field mouse, and followed. When they were safely out of earshot, John burst out laughing.
"You've never tried that one before...fatty." And he punched me in the shoulder.
We had a good chuckle over the night’s events and stayed at the restaurant for an hour or so more, just drinking and laughing at the look on that girl's face. Moments like that are priceless. Now I wholeheartedly believe that someday John and I are both going to meet wonderful women and fall in love, but until then, kicking back as just the boys and having a beer is better than any double date.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Not Invisible | Marjorie Riches
Have you ever walked into a fancy art studio and felt as though you are invisible? In fact, it doesn't even have to be an art studio, just some store where only rich people can afford to shop. You know that you aren't going to buy anything, but it is fun to see the 100 dollar shirts. You probably saw the same one at Wal-Mart the day before marked down to five dollars. But rich people don't need to shop at Wal-Mart. they can buy the expensive shirt and still have a ton of money to spare, not that they should be donating to charity or anything like that. Anyways, to get back on subject, I enjoy going to art studios just to look at the beautiful paintings. I would never buy any of them, there is no way that I could afford them. I can barely afford my rent as it is. But I go, and I don't care that I am invisible to all of the men in suits who are just waiting for the right customer, the rich one, to come in. I am not now, nor ever will be that customer. My husband and I are both going to be teachers...so no art is in our future. But maybe we will not always be invisible. One evening, the evening of my first wedding anniversary in fact, my husband and I decided to dress up in nice clothes and go out in Vegas. I wore a beautiful teal evening gown. it hugged my curves and made me look like I had the perfect body. It also had just the right touch of sparkle to make me feel glamorous and classy. My husband wore a blck suit with a tie that matched my gown. We decided on this wonderful evening, that while we were waiting for a table to open up at the restaraunt we chose, we would tour an art studio. It was the studio of the artist who paints beautiful beach and water scenes. He is very famous and I'm sure you would recognize his work if you saw it. It is always on school folders and the covers of notebooks, making kids beg for the pretty ones instead of the cheap ones with plain colors that are so much cheaper. I can't remember the artists name, but I have always had an attraction to the ocean, not so much the dolphins and whales. I'm not a big animal art person, but I do love the waves and the sky and beautiful beaches. My mom is from Hawaii so I have always been attracted to this kind of place. We entered the studio and as soon as we passed through the door, a man in a suit approached us. I thought that this was very odd. I had always been invisible, and it's not like I was any richer then than I was the day before. In fact, I was going to be a lot poorer as soon as we had our dinner. But he approached us anyways, because we looked richer and he decided to take us on a tour of the studio. He told us about every painting, told us about the artist who he explained as, "the rockstar surfer guy". Then, to our utter shock, he introduced us to the artist who just happened to be in town. We shook hands with him, told him his work was beautiful and then he was ushered off into a crowd of women who were giggling like they really were meeting a rockstar. Well our suited man asked us if we enjoyed the studio as we made a b-line toward the door. He then proceded to ask us if we wanted to take anything home tonight. My husband, who is always quick witted said, "I'll give you a dollar for this one," and pointed to one of the biggest paintings on the wall. The man laughed nervously and my husband gave a shrug and said, "Can't give you much more than that and the lint in my pocket. So, do we have a deal?" The man looked disgusted and muttered, "I'm sorry sir" as he walked hurriedly away. We laughed, knowing that he had thought for sure that we would buy something and had wasted all of his time showing hoolagins around the studio. It had been fun to walk through a studio with a guide who thought that we were something. It was fun to not be invisible, but what had been even more fun was to watch the look on the man's face as he discovered that we had decieved him, and were actually broke as a joke.
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