People started asking why his name wasn’t on the Christmas card. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know, so this was the first most people had heard of the break up.
She was invited to a New Year’s Eve wedding. He had the kids so she was going alone to the evening do. She realised as she got dressed in her new slimline figure that she was free. She could wear what she wanted and say what she liked and behave in anyway for the first time in 25 years. As she dressed she reflected that before he would tell her what to wear and and while she put her makeup on he would be telling her what she should say. She would drive so he could drink. This time her friend had offered her a couch.
She wore a tight black satin dress with dark makeup to hide the tear stains and new gauntness, as she walked into the party she felt the men looking at her. She saw their eagerness when she said she was newly single. To someone so fragile the flattery was completely seductive, a lad 10 years younger than her gave her plenty of attention but she had been warned he was a philanderer. She didn’t care, it’s not like she wanted anything serious, and heck he was fit and charming whilst her ex was a fat bolding accountant. As Big Ben hit 12 they only had eyes for each other and a passionate embrace and swapped numbers as he left.
The party carried on and I could pretend the next didn’t happen but it did. A spliff went round an already drunk set of stragglers. This was new to her but life was being reinvented and when you get that low you are free to try anything. She was off her head, someone started kissing her and she responded. He walked her to a barn and there was a fumble but even in her state of intoxication she managed to say no and it went no further than a bit of a grope. She left and sat for most of the rest of the night talking to a lovely lady beside a fire pit.
In the morning she could not recall his face and don’t think she ever knew his name, not even embarrassed she was so full of self hate she didn’t care.
I went to a party last night – a house warming. Everything was perfection, all beautiful,all immaculate and everything in its place and yes I had a tour of the whole house and there was not a hair out of place. I am happy for my friend to live in such perfection but I wake up with a slight hangover and feeling of failure to see in my hallway 4 sets of mud crusted clothes and mud soaked boots and gloves dripping onto my un immaculate floor.
We had a great time off road motor cycling but is it worth a day of washing and limping with bruises and muscle strain. I also need to hoover the car seats as they were crusted equally with the mud. The kitchen has every surface covered with plates, cups and glasses as my family fed themselves last night and the remains are left for me to deal with. But even if I clean that up my surfaces still seem full of things that don’t fit in the cupboards – extra large economy packs of cereal, the colonder doesn’t have a home as it’s too big, the meat slicer as I refuse to pay £5 for three slices of ham so cook my own, won’t fit in a cupboard. That bit of plastic for the thingymagig that I need to mend hovers by fruit bowl the kids made when they were little. The bins are full where my friends seemed to magically empty themselves. The dog doesn’t stop malting and smelling a bit cheesy. The school project – build an instrument litters the house – at least I talked him down from building a piano, which is a bit of an ask for a 9 year old to a guitar.
I question how I am unable to cope with all the basic housework duties while she runs a business and surrounds herself in perfection. Where do these perfect people put all that stuff? Do they get go out and get muddy. Is it just that I am relative to her, poor. Economies cost, you buy in bulk and have to store stuff in a home that’s smaller anyway?
Have all the guests gone home feeling the huge weight of inadequacy or just me?