“I mean, it sounds kinda silly, but there would be times when I could literally feel how empty my ring finger felt. And now,” she holds up the Tiffany’s sparkler on her left hand, “I never have to worry about it again!” She punctuates her sentence with the exclamation point of a girlish giggle. I throw back the last of my cran and goose.
“Yes,” I say motioning to the bartender for another, “that IS silly.”
And so it is another one bites the dust.
Now granted, this associate is slightly older than my other friends who are face planting over the broom (28) but I’m pretty sure that, while she may love new fiance, she’s head over heels for the lifestyle being his wife implies, Tiffany’s 3 carat solitaire and investment portfolio and all.
The bartender, aka my new best friend, puts down another glass in front of me. This time he’s given me the big girl glass and I am so deliriously grateful for it that if my lips weren’t grabbing desperately for the edge of the glass, I’d kiss him. (and partially because he resembles Common. Jesus.) I am almost to the halfway mark of my drink when I realize she hasn’t stopped talking. I tune back in for the rest of her June Cleaver monologue.
“… and we wanna start having kids right away.”
No seriously. A lil goose almost comes back out of my MAC Ruby Woo-ed lips.
“Like, immediately?” I ask.
“Oh yes. We’re both getting up there in age and we want a big family so we need to get started!” she chirps all nonchalantly like she’s talking about stripping and staining her hardwood floors.
“Hmm… that’s… interesting,” I reply and try to catch Common the Bartender’s eye again. I’m still able to blink too fast for this convo.
“La seriously, all jokes aside, you never hear your clock just a tick-tick-ticking away?”
I look at my biological clock. The one over in the dusty corner that I threw against the wall a couple years ago when I realized getting married meant I couldn’t continue to rendezvous with cute New York niggas and leave before they wake up in the morning like the one I was laying up under at the time.
“Not… really,” I say as Common puts another big girl glass down in front of me and I notice through the squiggly liquid that he’s written his number on the napkin underneath. Nice.
“But really though, congratulations to you guys. I’m sure you’ll be very happy. You seem very in love,” with his bank account I add in my head, squeezing the lime and throwing the stirrer on the bar and out of my way.
“But don’t you want all those things?”
“Right at this moment? Sure. About as much as I want a pap smear. Or 12 hours of bad sex. Or to suddenly gain 75 pounds.”
“You’d make a great wife La. Some lucky guy will come along and change your mind and before you know it, we’ll be pregnant at the same time and crib shopping!” (Insert girlish giggle again.)
I take a big gulp of my drink, and swing to face her on my stool.
“You know,” I start, “the last time I had sex it was up against a wall in the kitchen. Or maybe it was on the couch. It coulda been in the bathtub. Either way, it wasn’t at a scheduled time locked behind the bedroom door. You can’t do that with kids. I can’t have little La junior running in the kitchen to get some cookies and asking, “Mama, why are you bent over the stove like that?” She chokes on one of the mint leaves in her drink.
“And further more,” I continue, “why is it that everyone tries to convince me that the things I want aren’t the things I want? Did I try to tell you that you don’t really NEED a horse drawn carriage at this spectacle of a wedding you’re planning even though I think it’s ridiculous? Did I say hey, maybe you should hold off having kids until you see if your marriage can even last the first 2 years? Have I told you that you’re crazy for not living together first? Or that I think you’re INSANE for not fucking the.shit. out of him every chance you get because not having sex until marriage is absolutely ABSURD to me? No. I haven’t shared any of those thoughts because they are your choices. If you wanna marry a fine as all hell wealthy man who you don’t know much about and could possibly be impotent or into S&M or whatever, then you can. I support that. Would you STOP trying to keep me from my dreams of being able to literally fuck all over every inch of my place, to travel whenever I want, spend way too much money on shoes, and be wildly successful and happy in my own right please?”
She’s positively open mouthed. I get the bartender’s attention and he comes over. He smells good enough to eat.
“She’s gonna need another. And what about a Cap and Coke, none of this punk ass mint julep shit.” I turn to her. “That is what you used to drink before you got all cute and rocked up right?” I say glancing at the mountain on her finger. She laughs at me and nods. I motion to Common and he wanders to the other end of the bar to make our next round. I watch his ass as he walks away. We’re silent for awhile. I’m not privy to her thoughts but I’m entertaining a rather nice mental ambling of making the bartender an offer he won’t refuse.
“Ohmigod,” she says almost under her breath, that Atlanta accent she has been without up until this point on full display, “what if he CAN’T FUCK?”
“THAT’S what I’m sayin‘!!”
“What the hell am I gonna do?”
“Fuck him IMMEDIATELY. ASAP. Yesterday. Is he at home? Call him now.”
“You are such a mess.”
“Maybe, but I can guarantee you I won’t be having wack ass sex forever either.”
“You think it’s that important?”
“It’s that important to me. But I can’t answer that question for you. Is it to you? Personally, I couldn’t fathom being with someone I wasn’t sexually compatible with. I’d at least like to know I have the option of having sex everyday with my significant other even if I don’t exercise it. A girl needs her options you know.” We giggle mischievously as Common puts our drinks down in front of us.
“So?” I prompt her. She sits in thought for a moment silent.
Suddenly she whips out her Blackberry, calls her hubby to be. They exchange a few hushed words.
“I gotta go La.”
I smile at her haste in gathering her things. We hug and kiss and she all but flies out the door. I get the bartender’s attention.
That’s right ladies and gentleman, I’m saving one marriage at a time.