Three's a Crowd

 

Three’s a Crowd

This is Henry – she insists on writing this week……….prepare for a snore!

It was late August in 1977. The kids just started school that day, a private boys high school in San Jose and the house was bustling with my sons and some new friends. I had just called my husband at his office and asked if he thought his recently divorced secretary would like to come to dinner. She accepted and we set up a time. But………... she arrived a half hour early looking entirely different from her old married self.

The bottle bottom glasses were gone and her newly acquired eye makeup made her eyes even more blue. No more unfortunate pear shaped figure with the heavy bottom. It seemed as if she had dropped 30 lbs. Wow, her clothes were not the usual frumpy shapeless skirt and granny cardigan but a well fitted A-line and a clingy sweater in a most flattering shade of cranberry. She also sported knee high boots, which helped hide her heavy shapeless legs. This is how you look for work?!

I remember exactly what I was wearing – Dr. Scholl’s sandals, blue jeans and a tee shirt. I was losing the competition – was this a competition? Maybe.

I had no time to changed and because I was uncomfortable in my disheveled state, I felt the need to make a snappy comment, I exclaimed ,“Wow, Joan, divorce really agrees with you – maybe I should get one! (By the way, less than a month later, Ted asked for one.) Not sensing it was time to disengage, I proceeded to ask how she was doing – ever lonely? etc. She responded with, “I’m not lonely at all.” I guess she wasn’t!

I don’t know if it’s just me, but when I’m with the kind of woman who is very straight and prissy, I get very unstraight and unprissy – in another words I become a “toughie”, a term my grandmother used to describe women who weren’t “our kind”. I might add that the reverse is true – when with a “toughie” I’m the prissiest little thing you’ll ever find.

Let me not digress – it was cocktail hour and Ted asked what Joan wanted to drink. After saying she really didn’t drink, she simpered and finally said she’d like a little sherry. What is this?! Afternoon tea at Buckingham Palace? Anyway, I think I said, “just bring in the gin bottle – no glass necessary”. By the end of the evening, I was probably scratching my crotch and smoking cigars.

The evening finally ended, and it was the beginning of my knowing that the marriage was ending. The moral of the story is “Keep your friends close and your husband’s secretary closer!”

Henry’s critique – This wasn’t that bad. My person seems to be a better writer when she’s writing about herself!