Fiction,  flash fiction

This is Friday night

This is Friday night at the country club for dinner with my Ivy League husband where we will act surprised to see all the same people we saw last Friday night at the country club for dinner. The pale blue undertones in my $500 J McLaughlin dress will complement the deep blue in his Non-Iron Milano Fit Multiplaid Sport Shirt from Brooks Brothers.  We look like we planned this.  It’s casual Friday.

We will reassure our friends that our lives, jobs and children are just as exceptional as they were last Friday, if not more. We will ask about the specials.

It won’t matter that I have on my period panties that the dog chewed half the crotch out of. My husband hasn’t seen under this dress since we conceived the third kid.

Besides, the sex numbing mix of birth control pills, Zoloft, Xanax, and 14 years of mutual resentment that I’m on means I don’t care.

I drink too much dry chardonnay at dinner and start gossiping about the one couple who didn’t show up. She got fat. She’s always been ugly. I have to play tennis with her in the morning. She can’t serve. My husband looks at me like “Don’t you know how to act?” And I glare back at him like, “Who are you to tell me how to act?”

It’s time to go. The dinner is on our tab. The kids are out with friends. They text to check in. Everything is fine.

My husband drives the Escalade in silence. I stare out the window wondering how badly it would hurt if I opened my door and flung myself onto the road. Would I die or just break everything and ruin my face? And, what would I do next? Run? Where to?

We get home and I get in bed and post #empowering #GirlPower #Crossfit #ILoveWine memes on Instagram and post sexy lingerie #selfies on snapchat to my ex boyfriend from high school, the trainer at the gym I don’t go to anymore and the married dad from the middle school who I swear I never talk to while my Ivy League husband jerks off on facetime in the home office on the first floor to that Junior League provisional who contacted him for a corporate donation back in October.  This is Friday night.

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7 Comments

  • M J Davis

    The post is excellent. Your writing is so vivid, it makes the reader believe they are in your moment. All the detail, all the feelings seem real because they are… for you and for many others out there. It doesn’t have to be that way though. I don’t pretend to know you, but take it from a man married 24 years there is more. It can get better. We went through a stint like that, though admittedly not 14 years. Hang in there. I enjoy your posts.

    And let me concur with you, for us, those birth control pills were the devil when it came to killing her sex drive. She got on them at 16 and when I think back, it really started back then but fell off a cliff after kids came along (3)…that was a long time ago… Nobody warns you about the dead sex drive that often comes with BC pills. Getting off those helped, along with me living more authentically and naturally instead of trying to be the “nice husband” she grew to resent.

    Keep up the good work!

  • M J Davis

    After reading my comment, I want to be clear. We weren’t married at 16!!! We were dating in high school. Weren’t married until after she finished college. We’ve just been together a very loooong time now.

  • The Daytime Renegade

    Miserable people leading miserable lives that at least *look* good from the outside. I’m sure you didn’t have to look hard for inspiration for this one.

    I read this and see a future I pray I never get trapped in.

    One of the good things about being a weirdo, though, is that peer pressure and the desire to do what the crowd is doing really kind of just bounces off of you. I’m sure you can relate.

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