Mingling with husband’s women colleagues

Mingling with husband’s women colleagues

So there was yet another get-together this weekend and I was at my social best. From picking up the right ear drops to matching my dress to selecting the footwear that stood me at a decent height with my better half, I carefully planned my evening before setting out to play the guest wife.

The venue: One of the husband’s colleague’s living room; The group: His office friends cum colleagues. Occasion: Informal hang-out with families of a formal group.

We were the first couple to arrive and the host greeted us with all their freshness. A 20-minute of individual attention I enjoyed, when walked in the next couple. I shifted from my place to sit opposite facing the new arrival. The woman started off hurriedly about the invitees expected. I was quiet to give her time to finish gossiping before the accused arrived. When she stopped to breathe, I asked, how she was, and she replied something on the lines, ‘always fine’.

I smiled.

Then three women arrived and sat with the earlier one on the two-seater sofa. I shifted from my earlier position and pulled a chair and sat rubbing my knees to one of them.  

Then the volley started. The one in the centre said, ‘That areshole, what does he think of himself…’ and I pitched in that I have an equally stinking boss. They smiled and one at the extreme left said, ‘Don’t know why teachers give projects. I have no time…’ and I pitched in that kids need to be made self-sufficient. They smiled reluctantly, and the extreme right said, ‘I’m joining the online networking group. Easy money, that is…’ and I pitched in that one needs to be shameless. They almost smiled, and the one second from left said, ‘I’m planning to go on an all-carb diet. Look at this tummy…’ and I pitched in that diets don’t work. They ignored me.

In between arrived the star attraction of the group. She sat 30 inches away from the foursome, 15 inches to my right. Every time, she spoke, one of the sofa-seaters voiced her thoughts by leaning over to poke her. In quick succession, the other nudged her thigh and started, ‘You know what…’. Three minutes later, another scratched her hand, and said, ‘Did you hear…’ One minute later, her feet was kicked at, and said, “By the way…”

The act continued until dinner was served and I rushed to grab the two-seater. My three seat-sharers started the menu dissection. Spare a thought for the hostess, I said and they ignored me scooping one another’s dessert over my plate.

In the wee hours, when we bid our byes, they opened their arms and craned their necks. Refusing to smell their earlobes, I waved my manicured fingers, instead and smiled.

The next evening when the husband returned from work, he said, “They think you are a stuck-up person.”

I smiled.

PS: All puns unintented because I prefer being stuck-up to sticking out!
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