After breaking down to R about my frustrations of being confined to this apartment, he took it upon himself to find SOMETHING for me to do that would get me out of the house and off his back. Mind you, his something, is never my something. He came home last night and told me that in addition to finishing paperwork at his workplace, I’d also be attending a party. What type of party I wanted to know and he answered, “Tea and Biscuits.” What kind of party is that? I would have understood “A tea” or a “Brunch,” but biscuits? I inquired further, which made him angry. “What’s the big deal what type of party it is? It gets you out and you can meet some of the ladies.” Yep, just what I want to do, meet some ladies.
I angrily got ready for the party this morning not knowing what to expect or what to wear to such an occasion. I got to the party and was met by the hostess. This biscuit party turned out to be a breakfast. No biscuits in sight. Along with about twenty or so ladies (housewives) were two men. What do you call men in this situation–men whose wives are the one’s working? Housemen? Househusbands? Regardless, I didn’t socialize with any of the housewives, just one of the housemen. He was pleasant enough to talk to and while I was engaged in conversation with him, it gave me the opportunity to size up the crowd. No recognizable purses in sight and nary a pair of shoes that caught my attention.
Upon returning from the biscuitless party, I ran five miles in the stinky gym and then laid out by the pool for an hour. The pool is decent, minus the children splashing my purse (yes, the B). It has plenty of lounge chairs and there were few people there (until school gets out when I imagine it will be crazily busy), but adjacent to the pool area is patio seating, which is awkward because I felt I was on display to the people in suits having lunch. I was hesitant at first to take off my clothes to reveal my bikini. I could just see R’s reaction to me in a bikini next to men lunching. He’d be annoyed and embarrassed and would feel the need to ask me why I have to show off that way. I suppose I could wear a frumpy one piece, but then again, I’m sure other men would be psyched to see their wives rock a bikini like me. Ok, just kidding. I’m not that obnoxious. Well, maybe just a little, but when you’ve done nothing but workout like a fiend for the last year and when you can’t wear anything revealing day in and day out here, there are times when you just want to strip down to the bare minimum.