Last weekend I embarked on a rite of passage that I thought I’d never reach. I am a married single mother of three in my mid-thirties. What else did I want to do when my husband finally came into town after being apart for three months?
I went to a club and got drunk.
I went to college in San Francisco and took full advantage of the night life. Huge clubs the size of department stores. Deafening music. Ridiculous cover charges that my set and I never paid, VIP list all the way, thankyouverymuch.
Some weekends started on a Thursday night and ended in the wee hours of Monday morning. Not all weekends but enough to make me think twice about wearing platforms or wedges to Target.
Just twice. I still put those lavender wedges on to go to Target. Rowrrr.
So when I mentioned to some friends that my husband would be in town and that I’d like to get drunk and go dancing or go dancing and get drunk… well, I had a handful of amigas step up to the plate.
While I can’t say how many shots were thrown back or how many rounds were on me, I do recall several questionable moments.
There was an alleged reggae band playing when we got there. At least that’s what they thought they were playing. Some of the audience members kicked off their shoes to dance. Others swayed to the music in irregular rhythms.
I chose the Electric Slide. Then the Running Man. And finally the signature New Kids on the Block side-kicking move.
It was brilliant. Really.
There was a group of women wearing hideous prom dresses on purpose. Really. One of the women was having a bachelorette party. I am pretty sure I bought a round of shots for my friends and included the bride-to-be.
Upstairs a DJ played more drunk-friendly hits like early Dr. Dre and Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” mashed up with “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics. When I heard Her Majesty Gaga, I believe I was the only one on the dance floor and may have Vogue’d a little. Don’t be a drag, just be a queen! Holla!
One moment that was not questionable was when I went outside for fresh air. I danced from the moment I got there until I went outside to text a quick “I love you” to my husband. I walked back upstairs and noticed a man drinking a glass of red wine on the balcony. Who goes to a club and drinks wine? Fancy schmancy restaurant? Sure. But at a club at one in the morning? Really?
“They serve wine here?” I asked.
“It’s all I drink.” Ooh, how fancy.
We chatted a bit and got that he was single. After all, three in our party were single so hey, why not score some digits for them?
My friends teased me for a bit for talking to this cute Greek dude but like my husband, they knew they had nothing to worry about. I’m friendly and maybe I’m a bit of a flirt but I don’t consider that cheating.
My husband heard many tales of husbands cheating on their wives and wives cheating on their husbands. A friend of mine said if her husband ever went to a strip club, she would consider it cheating. Many wives equate porn with cheating.
I am not here to lecture or to judge your morals, relationship, or marriage that I know nothing of but I will share our simple and hard-fast rule about cheating: If you can’t do what you’re doing in front of your spouse, then it’s cheating.
We tell each other everything. Or at least I thought we did as discussed in a previous post that I’m too lazy to recall now. And I suspect another ball will be dropped in the next few weeks, pending authorization from my dear husband.
I do chat up men in front of my husband. I’m a talker. I’m nosy. I’m gonna ask you a bazillion questions. I am all those things in front of my husband, even if he’s cringing a bit from embarassment.
Do I meet random men, text them, friend them on Facebook? Absolutely not. I’ve never given my husband reason to be suspicious and vice versa.
I know what you’re thinking. Do I “let” my husband have girl friends? Is he allowed to go to strip joints? What does this respectable, young-ish, and albeit good-looking couple consider inappropriate?
I’d tell you but it’d be cheating.