This past weekend I spent some time with my best friend who is pictured with me in my profile photo (I have short hair). I have been spending more time with her in the last few months because we are both going through some life situations that are best shelved when we can laugh about some of the more ridiculous decisions we have made. We often relax on the couch and enjoy watching, "House Hunters International" or as I have come to call it, "Let's Get Depressed And Regret The Choices We Have Made" show.
This past Saturday was a bit different than most of our visits. We usually have all of our boys so we do things around the house like drinking a beer while watching football or hockey games. However, we were childless on Saturday night and Christine made plans for us to see a local band. She told me that it was a ladies' night out and she had invited a friend she had met through a school event. I was fine with the plans but then once her friend arrived she mentioned that we would be picking up another woman and that woman had invited one of her friends.
Stop. Hit the brakes. Halt. Did you read the previous lines that Christine and I often watched sporting events while drinking a beer? Yes, I wrote that. I am a tomboy-always have been and always will be and it was a blessing that I had boys. I am not a prissy girl. I do NOT enjoy shopping and I have never had a manicure. I'm pretty certain I was panicked that I did not have an epi pen in my purse for fear of the anaphylaxis I was certain to suffer from all the estrogen. Another thing about me that is certainly not dainty is my appetite. I am an eater. I am not a, "Oh, I'll just have a salad," kind of girl. Bring me a platter full of food and keep your hands close at your sides. Why do I mention this? Because we arrived at the bar and I said, "Hey, I'm hungry. Is anyone going to eat? I am ." Of course they weren't hungry.
Drinks and my dinner is served and the friend of the friend of the friend removes her jacket to reveal artificially tanned breasts bursting out of her shirt. I was certain I was going to find colostrum in my drink. I do not have issues with women looking sexy and enjoying themselves but this evening quickly turned into a bad regurgitated version of "Sex In The City" and I didn't have a boyfriend named Mr. Big or a separate closet for expensive shoes. A group of divorced women just seemed far too cliche and I was wallowing in misery.
Where was my friend, Christine? Christine the girl who can make me laugh about the most mundane and everyday things. She was complimenting the shirt bursting girl and dancing to the band I was supposed to be enjoying. What was I doing? I was watching the Detroit Red Wings instead. I had no interest in displaying any of my physical attributes, no matter how big or small. I had grown tired of hearing these women complain about their ex-husbands and then discuss how large some guy's junk was.
If I am girly in any part of my life, it is my love of romance. I am in love with an amazing man, who like me, enjoys discussing books, sports, travel and simply being ridiculous. Saturday night was a scary glimpse into what life could be for me if I don't cherish the love I have been blessed to share. Despite having survived an abusive marriage, I do not nor will I ever, hate men. It was the behavior I witnessed that made me dislike my own gender. It also saddened me. It saddened me that I did not enjoy my time with Christine because she had the best of intentions, but I was too far out of my element. But again, it provided me with an eye-opening experience. These women lamented their past relationships but they also rejoiced being away from their children while I was deeply missing mine.
Christine will continue to be my bestfriend (unless she reads this) but maybe next time, I will make the plans.
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