So, I wake up from my Sunday afternoon nap feeling like a freshly recharged nickel cadmium battery and walk into the living room. I find my wife and her aunt BB sitting on the couch watching television and that’s when my “spidy sense” goes off. So, I wake up from my Sunday afternoon nap feeling like a freshly recharged nickel cadmium battery and walk into the living room. I find my wife and her aunt BB sitting on the couch watching television and that’s when my “spidy sense” goes off. All good husbands have “spidy sense,” you know that thing Spiderman has. It’s amazing how much you can tell about your spouse from just one look. I can’t count the number of times the entire context of my wife’s workday has been summed up the second she crosses through the front door at 5:15 p.m. It only took one look and right then and there, Cheryl looked like she was about to explode.
“Guess who just called me?” she snarled. I already knew the answer, but I played dumb. “Why who could it possibly have been my little lamb chop?” “******” (WARNING — the name ****** has been changed to protect the ignorant). Dang, I was right! I didn’t need a life line or 50/50 for the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway. “For what, my darling little lamb chop?”
“She wanted to know why she wasn’t invited to my birthday party! Can you believe that?” Dang, I was right again! Just this once I was hoping my spidy sense was wrong but it wasn’t.
Sunday night is our favorite night for television. We kick things off at 9 p.m. with Alias on ABC. Then, we immediately turn to HBO and watch The Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and The Mind of a Married Man back to back to back. I don’t know how you like your television, but I like mine with peace and quiet, and no conversation. I look over at the cable box and it’s 8:54 p.m., only six minutes until show time. So I sigh, pop a blank videotape in the VCR, and return to the couch because I know I’m going to have to hear all about the phone conversation with ******.
The issue at hand is where do you draw the line at who you do and who you don’t invite to social events and why. It’s been said that if you ask 100 people the definition of friendship you’ll get a 101 different answers. The bottom line is ****** and my wife aren’t friends and have never truly been friends. At least that’s how my wife views it.
With that said, I didn’t evite ****** because I don’t believe she’s a true friend to my wife, me, or my marriage. I’ve been in several social settings with ******. Each time I’ve found her to be an elitist, critical of others, and continually passing judgment on “those people” because she feels she’s better then them. My mother once told me a dog that brings a bone carries a bone. And I wasn’t sure what kind of bone she would have brought to the party (let alone her flees of negative insecurity). My wife’s 30th birthday was a very special event and I wasn’t willing to take the risk of inviting “a hater” out of some social obligation.
******’s phone call really translated to: “How dare you not evite me! Do you know who I am? I deserved to be at your party!”
No, she didn’t. ****** was upset because she wasn’t allowed to make an indictment on how I run my program and I just wasn’t going to let that happen. That’s not my definition of friendship.
Now I can understand how ****** thought she might have been slighted. She has invited Cheryl and I to her house on several occasions and we were invited to her 30th Birthday party, the people there were always fakey. The aluminum siding on my grandparent’s house had less plastic then ****** did when it came to her soirées. Long gone are the days of, “If you don’t have enough candy for the entire class then no candy at all.” This isn’t Franklin Junior High.
What I don’t understand is what compelled her to call and ask where her evite was. There are couples I know that uninvite my wife and I to their social events all the time. Why? Because for whatever reason that’s how they want it. So I respect their decisions just like I hope ****** does mine.