Last night I had a blast! It has been a long time since I had that much fun. The last few months I have wallowed in self-pity, anger, bitterness, and overall emotional pain. I had no desire to have fund nor would I allow myself the simple pleasure. The funny thing is I almost did not go last night – when Dionne initially called to invite me, I spent the entire conversation providing the appropriate responses fused with just the right amount of enthusiasm, while secretly trying to figure out a plausible excuse for not being able to join them. If it hadn’t been for Grace, I would have never joined them. Faithful Grace. Always the voice of reason.
The one thing I kept thinking about last night was my “separated” status. Being separated and almost single is a weird place to be in. Legally I am still married, but my husband doesn’t live with me. I still have sexual needs that my husband should meet, but he’s fulfilling someone else’s sexual needs. Sometimes I am lonely and want to be comforted, but my husband is not accessible to me. I don’t want to date anyone else to get my needs met, because secretly, I would give anything to have my husband back. That’ why I still wear my wedding ring. The very concept of spending time with another man feels extremely wrong. Even if I wanted to date, it would never come to fruition, because I am too angry. Men don’t look at me twice and I think it’s because I give off a seriously angry vibe. That, “don’t ask me for my number because I might spit on you” vibe OR the “don’t buy me a drink and think your entitled to more, because I might hunt you down and break your jaw” kind of vibe. I have heard men say that when a woman is in the “I hate men mode” they can immediately pick up that emotion and tend to run in the opposite direction.
The club was nothing like what I expected. It had a dual personality – Greek restaurant by day, Latin Club by night. I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite like it. The dance floor consisted of a 12 x 12 space covered with Pergo flooring. It was obvious that restaurant patrons sat in that very spot during the day eating gyros. The bar was large and generously stocked – so I couldn’t complain; although I do not think I would ever go during the week for lunch. Restaurants should be restaurants and clubs should be clubs, I don’t think I like those that serve an in-between function. This was obviously a happenin’ spot, because it was packed. I never realized that Indianapolis contained such a large Hispanic population. Was this new?
Notwithstanding my revelations about the population, I quickly overcame my initial impressions and gratefully accepted a drink from a really cute Mexican guy. After my first drink I danced up a sweat, 50% of the time alone and 50% of the time with one random Mexican guy after another. The time in between was spent drinking and laughing with the girls. The first time I was asked to dance I didn’t know how to respond. For some unknown reason, I felt like I was somehow betraying Bryce by dancing with another man. Especially when dancing to a slow song. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel obligated to continue upholding marriage vows broken by Bryce over a year ago with Margo? Anyway…after a couple of drinks and continual prodding from Grace I began to loosen up. That was when the real fun began.
Before I knew what was happening, I had not only mastered the basic salsa step, I was also doing the merengue and the rhumba. Who would have thought it would be so much fun? By 3:00 a.m., I had sweated out the alcohol, my feet hurt, and I was ready to go home. The only depressing part of the evening was that I had become sexually aroused from doing the merengue with no possibility of release. According to the guy who showed me the step, the merengue is like a “slow grind.” Well that was right up my alley – after that explanation, every time the merengue music came on all I could think about was grinding. From now on, just thinking about the merengue is going to make me wet.
As my grandmother used to say, I left the club hot and bothered. Several of us, including me, carpooled so I was the second-to-last person dropped off. We departed with the promise to celebrate the next birthday together – a fantastic idea since my birthday was next. As soon as the front door opened, I kicked off my shoes and limped to the bedroom assured that I would awake with blisters on both feet. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I peeled off my clothes and fell exhausted into my just delivered that morning, king sized, pillow top bed. Reeking of smoke, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.