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Confessions of Susan - Entry 7

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Written by Susan A.

Monday, 20 August 2007

I admit it. I almost lost it when Billy came by to pick up the kids on Friday. One look at his Don Johnson-esque-bearded face (will someone please tell him what decade this is) and I began picturing his reaction when his girlfriend presented him with his new penis. I was choking back laughter. “You’re in a good mood,” he said flatly. “Tell the kids I’ll meet them in the car.” And he was gone. A few minutes later so were the kids. It was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. I called Grace. She pulled into my driveway 30 minutes later.  “I though you had a date,” I said. “Nah, I canceled that,” she said. “I can see HotGuy68’s basement any old time. Let’s go out.” We went Chiquita’s Bar and Grill. One and a half margaritas later, we were still talking about the great strap-on escapade (vividly recreated in our imaginations). But then Grace got up to go the bathroom. She was barely through the swinging door to the restroom when a guy walking by our booth, stopped suddenly and smiled at me. He seemed friendly—not threatening. I smiled back. “I couldn’t help noticing you since you walked in,” he said. “You two seem to be having such a good time. I love the sound of a woman’s laughter.” “We are having fun,” I said, and I realized it was true. I felt more relaxed than I had in a very long time. We continued to chat for a few minutes. When Grace returned to the table, the guy, his name was Jerry, asked for my phone number. Grace raised her eyebrows, the universal sign of approval. I tried to play it cool, but I was shaking inside. Of course, guys have hit on me before over the years, but I never took it too seriously. I was married, happily, at least I thought. I wasn’t about to go there. This was different, and it suddenly struck me that I have far less experience at this kind of stuff than my 18-year-old daughter. I pulled myself together and gave him my number. He slid it into his pocket and with a cool wave walked to the bar. “Whoa,” said Grace, looking at me with a combination of amazement and maternal pride. “He’s hot.” “Yeah,” I breathed. We sat quietly for a moment. “I’ve always liked dark curly hair,” I said. “Billy was so blond and sort of washed out.” Grace grinned at me. “And nearly washed up according to his girlfriend.” “True,” I laughed. “But Jerry, now he doesn’t seem washed out or washed up. But …I wonder if he will really call.” “Oh, he’ll call,” said Grace. “Trust me on this. My gut instinct is never wrong.” Related Articles: Confessions of Susan - Entry 1 How to Pick Out a Vibrator

 

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