About twice a year, my husband's friends and we (their wives) get together for a challenge unlike any other: The Newlywed Game.
At this anticipated event, couples vie for first place while revealing the highs, the lows, and the oh-so-embarassing secrets about their life as a couple. (And yes, the word "whoopie" is used....ew, ew, ew).
Needless to say, I lose track of how many times tears run down my face from the laughter. It is truly a great exercise in laughing at yourself (and your friends) while also having a fun night out with adults.
I will never reveal any of the moments of the night. It's a rule, and I would never throw one of my girls under the bus (their husbands are spared by default) because we may all be acquaintances by default (the husbands all grew up together), we have become friends by fortune.
But I got permission for this one.....
The host of this particular party is one of the most amazing people on the face of the planet: the fabulous Karen. As host, Karen not only organized the event and provided food and drink, but she also supplied the prize for the winning couple (shout out to Beth the Lawyer and Sean Diddy Combs Carter). Needless to say, the only gift truly appropriate for such a contest would obviously have to come from the local adult candy factory: Fantasy Gifts.
Securing said items is not so obvious, however. As a suburban mother and perfectly classy lady, Karen is one of the last people I'd expect to see there (and yes, I might expect to see others...again, never tell, never tell), but off she went to find something for the winners.
As she entered the store, the cashier and limited patrons immediately let their glances linger as she pushed the door open, the bells in the shape of certain anatomy heralding her entrance. She was feeling more than a little awkward as the people continued to stare while also trying to conceal their own potential purchases.
Head down, keep your head down.
She swiftly (well, as swiftly as she could) headed for the back of the store so she could strategize her movements with limited visibilty and humiliation. Of course, the cashier wasn't about to let that happen:
"Can I help you with something, hon?"
She's not talking to me. I'll just keep staring at this interesting umbrella...wait, that's not an umbrella....what the?
"Hon, can I help you find something in particular?"
Drat. Her plans had been spoiled by a persistent salesperson. Keep your head down, keep your head down.
"Well, we're having a sale..."
"Good! I mean, I'm good! Thanks..." Please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me. Is that a tennis racket?
"Well, it's just that, if you haven't been here before that is..."
"NO! no, no....I've never been here before...just looking for a friend...."
This claim caused the other patrons to chuckle, she's apprently stumbled on the excuse of choice for Fantasy Gifts regulars. She allowed her face to turn the same shade of crimson as the Naughty Firewoman ensemble and quickly ducked into the book aisle (at least then she could argue that research had brought her to this den of iniquity).
She grabbed a small book about something offensive (with pictures, for the husbands) and literally jogged to the register, making sure to avoid eye contact. Again, the patrons laughed, only this time more obviously.
She started to become angry. What's so funny about me? I'm a confident, intelligent woman who shouldn't have to explain myself to these people. I should be laughing at them.
And then it happened. She caught her reflection in one of the many, many mirrors surrounding the store.
"So how far along are you?" asked the overly helpful cashier.
"Um, seven months. Could I get a bag for that?"
As she tore out of the store, she decided she'd let he husband pick up the beer and wine.
I'm 32, a dad, and I am not a douchebag...
6 years ago