Ruminations of a Red Dirt Hussy

November 16, 2012

Let him date. See if I care.

Filed under: Blogroll — Vadasmaker @ 6:55 pm

I hate to say it, but my husband is dating other women. Well, one other woman. I hadn’t thought about it, but maybe that’s worse. I might ought to tell him to date around, not tie himself down to one woman who’s not me. Bears thinking about.

So anyway, he comes home one day and says his masseuse wants him to go dancing with her. I thought that might be some kind of euphemism for something the likes of which I couldn’t imagine, but he said no, it was a real dance. She didn’t have anyone to go with and she asked him to ask me if he could take her. Well. She was nice enough to ask. I said go ahead.

I might have been drunk at the time.

So the day after I wadded him up and threw him at her, I thought to ask, “How pretty is she?”

“How pretty is she?” It is never a good sign when you ask a man something and he repeats the question.

“Yeah. How pretty is she?”

“Well, she was cute in the nineties.”

Oh. My. God.

We’re talking about a man who told his own wife that she was “all right but not Playboy material.” To my face, people. In the seventies, when all my stuff was where it was supposed to be. The only person he’s ever willingly called beautiful is my niece, Tasha, who is Playboy material, or could be if she wanted to be.

And he describes the woman I’m sending him out with as “cute in the nineties.”

Can you believe I let that one slide? Like I said. Drunk. No other explanation.

So then what? I asked him if he wanted to use my car. He did.

And then? I asked him if he wanted me to help him brush up on his swing dance moves? He did.

And then? I sent him to Dillard’s to buy shoes to wear. On his date.

Drunk, drunk, drunk!

Turns out she could have looked like Ernest Borgnine, because this is what she’s brought to the game:

First, where do you think this event was held? In an airplane hangar. With old airplanes.

And what do you think she’s got in her back yard? Two great big buildings full of antique cars. Left to her by her daddy. The war hero.

Which DVDs do you think she’s most interested in him loaning her? Band of Brothers. She probably likes football and beer and weed eaters and shit like that, too.

And I did mention she was a masseuse, right?

I don’t have any old airplanes.

I don’t have any old cars.

I’d just as soon jump off a bridge as watch Band of Brothers or discuss it with someone who has.

And if you rub my back, I’m still not rubbing yours, so forget it.

What I do have is health insurance and endless creativity to make his life a living hell.

Yeah. You’re right. He can date all he wants. He’s always going to come home.

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6 Comments »

  1. Well, it does end well, so there is that…..

    Like

    Comment by Michelle — November 16, 2012 @ 7:38 pm | Reply

  2. Want to go dancing?

    Like

    Comment by michael smith — November 16, 2012 @ 11:58 pm | Reply

    • silly rabbit. you know i can’t dance. but for you I’ll try.

      Like

      Comment by vadasmaker — November 17, 2012 @ 9:14 am | Reply

  3. Want me to borrow someone else’s husband, go to the dance, and keep an eye on her?

    Like

    Comment by Pam K. — November 19, 2012 @ 7:15 am | Reply

    • Damn straight. Get out there and take up for me. You’re one of the bravest people I know.

      Like

      Comment by vadasmaker — November 19, 2012 @ 12:24 pm | Reply

  4. You know, dancing is the devil’s way to get you standing next to a man who is touching your back – with his hand, usually. Goddess only knows where it will lead.
    I don’t even what my husband watching someone else dance with anyone he knows. If he claims he has forgotten how to dance with me, he better be forgetting how do stand beside anyone else.
    That flat butt, those long fingers, that beard, all that blushing when he stumbles – all mine.
    I think, honestly, that a masseuse with a garage full of toys can find a single guy to rub up against. Even if she looks like Ernest Borgnine’s ugly brother.
    People have been murdered for less.
    I have met your husband. He is cute. (But beign a man, clueless.) Let someone else pimp out her husband.

    Like

    Comment by ponytail girl — November 19, 2012 @ 10:25 am | Reply


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