“Red or white?”
The question alerted me from my frantic, rushing thoughts as I stood in the school yard.
“Beg your pardon?” Now awake, I realised there must’ve been some sort of response I was supposed to make, but what was the question?
“Do you drink red or white?” He asked again.
“Oh, wine! Hehe, I drink whatever someone puts in my hands.” I tried to sound casually vague, making small talk was not my strong point and anyway having a husband does not mean I should be talking drinks with another man and I certainly knew my place.
“She is away for the week and I will be home alone with the boys.”
“Oh, my husband would kill me!” I had always been told I made terrible friends and thus, we usually hung out with my husband’s friends instead of my ‘weird’ arty ones. See, what does being friendly get you, just pick up lines, I guess!
He looked wrecked. I felt sorry for him. All the parents dropping off their kids, just sat in the quadrangle waiting for the bell to go. A couple of fathers and a few mums chatting away before they went on their separate ways for the day.
“She spent the whole of my birthday Saturday getting her hair done, while I watched the boys and then she went to the airport and flew up the coast to Ballina. She’s staying the week, in luxury of course.”
“She did what for your birthday?! Did she say happy birthday at least?”
I don’t think I understood rich people. They had no feelings and certainly didn’t appreciate the good fortune they were blessed with.
I would not do that to anyone on their birthday. I even treated my husband good and got him presents when he ran away. I don’t understand women who believe they deserve to be treated as queens and nobody else deserves anything but them.