How Did I Get Here?

When I met my husband, I was minding my own business. I had the life I pretty much always wanted: I lived in a cute little house in a vibrant neighborhood in the big city, worked at a professionally fulfilling and personally satisfying big girl job, bought new shoes before they went on sale, and never thought twice about traveling solo to the places I wanted to see. I worked out at a yuppie gym, bought my produce at the organic market, took mass transit to run local errands, and sought out eclectic live music in coffee houses and taverns around town.

There was never a shortage of men to date. But after a devestating break up in my early 30s -- this was the man who was supposed to be my destiny -- I decided that I really was better off on my own. To quote a maiden aunt, "Until I find someone who can take better care of me than I do, I'd rather not be bothered." For the most part, it wasn't a problem. There was always a spare man waiting to escort me to the random black tie event, wedding, or Super Bowl party. And after my terribly unsatisfying Mr. Goodbar phase, I found a couple of buddies I could trust who would stop by from time-to-time when the urge hit.

There were only a couple of times when it got dicey:

Like when my well-meaning friends tried to fix me up with the single men in their lives. I can't count the number of times I had to ask, "What were you thinking?" after one of these arranged adventures. I had to remind some of my dearest and most cherished friends more than once that a pulse is not a personality trait...

Or when married men assumed -- since I was single and all -- that I'd be up for an affair. How many times did I hear, "My wife doesn't understand me." Well, yeah, I'd say, I wouldn't understand it either if my husband were out at a bar in the middle of the night trying to pick up a girl for a fling. And the ever popular: "I never cheat, but there's something different/ special/ amazing about you." Yeah, right, buddy. I might have believed it the first time I heard it, but by the tenth time I started wondering if there was a class that all married men took to learn their pick up routines.

My standard response was always to tell the poor man to go home and tell his wife how much he loves her. Because, I said, I deserve better than a man who has to lie to be with me. I always thought that if I were married, I'd want someone like me out there watching my back if my husband thought about straying. Just slow 'em down a bit and get 'em thinking about some consequences.

Where were those girls like me when I needed them?


The Wife Who Knows