The Sweetest Taboo Part VIII
What is it about men and belonging to clubs like soccer clubs, golf clubs, tennis clubs and so forth?
"My love, why do you feel the need to belong to one of those clubs?" I ask curiously.
"Because it's male bonding, and who else can I play snooker with?" He asks.
"Fair point," I think while my eyes roll so far back in my head, I am almost dizzy.
But I recall that I was supposed to be supportive, so here I am, as supportive as possible, even if I didn't like it. I have no issue with him playing snooker, but I am against the idea of being dragged along to chit chat. I don't want to have "high tea" with the wives of his snooker friends while they dissect me with their eyes. In situations like those, I always feel that while having tea with them, I could jump up from the table, push my chair back and say, "Boo!" And watch them gasp or faint in horror. My imagination is in overdrive.
The little evil in me so badly wants to shake them out of the bubble they are living in! No, they don't live there, they dwell! That's not what I would call living.
Tuesday evening arrives, and my love looks handsome in a formal shirt and pants with a matching waistcoat and a bow tie. Yep, a bow tie. He looks ready to attend a prestigious black-tie event or is a secret assassin (they also look smart when they're about to murder someone)
Despite my protestations, he convinces me to accompany him and watch him play snooker.
"Yippee!" I can barely contain my sarcastic self, and I reluctantly agree.
Once there, I can't help but notice that the men are older than my love, and they reek of wealth. The women who accompany their husbands are dripping in jewellery that looks like it "belongs" to the royal family.
I am the only person of colour: Brown, in a white world. The side glances I am getting are making me uncomfortable. My love is equally formal and introduces me to his newly found friends.
"Are we waltzing at any moment?" I whisper to him because it's so quiet in there. Quiet and dark. There are only lowlights, and I hope I don't trip on the heels I'm wearing.
"Behave, my darling and be nice!" He tells me while trying to hide his laughter.
After being seated at this quiet game that's played in the dark (insert eye roll here), it is finally my loves' turn to go. I'm so proud. I know the game because he explained the rules to me.
My love crouches, cue in hand and starts playing. He is leading by a big margin. It's still quiet, and I am concentrating on the game with my heart feeling like it's about to "jump out of my chest." I am rooting for him.
"Yes, you go, boy, well done, woo" Cringe moment, I actually said those words out loud and jumped up, "fist-pumping" the air.
Oops, my face goes red, but luckily you cant see it in the dark. I look at my love across the hall, and he is trying hard not to smile. Now everyone is staring at me.
They're clearly thinking I don't know how to behave, but I got caught up in the moment.
"Quickly ground open up and swallow me now!"
Maybe I should sneak out and wait in the car? On second thought, no, I will sit, but this silence is killing me.
I feel someone touching my arm and turn around slowly (I thought it might be a bouncer) about to tell me to leave. Instead, I see one of the men my love introduced me to earlier that evening. He is smiling and rubs my arm in a comforting manner.
"Don't worry about these stuffy people" (he is British) and sounds ever so "pompous." But he is friendly, so I'm not complaining.
We chat while my love is playing (softly, of course), and 10 minutes into our chat, I realize he is still rubbing my arm. I shift slightly, and so does he, but he does it so that I can barely notice.
"Ok, a bit too friendly, Mister."
I hurriedly say goodbye and decide to wait in the car because my love is nearly done.
"I've invited Richard to dinner next week!" My love says as he gets into the car. "He seems to like you!" He continues.
At this bit of information, my head turns so sharply towards him that I nearly have whiplash.
"Of course he likes me, he made it pretty obvious," I mumble.
"Not again," he sighs. "Not ALL men are interested in you." He declares. "I thought we have been through this before?" He continues.
"Yes, we have, and I thought you would believe me when incidences like John happened again?" I moan.
"I do believe you, but not in this instance. Anyway, he's happily married," my love argues.
"And married men don't cheat?" I ask in exasperation.
I drop the subject. My love hasn't learnt anything from the previous encounter, so I will watch and wait until this plays out.
"Is his wife coming with him to dinner?" My fingers are crossed, hoping to hear that she is.
"No, Richard said she's working late."
To be continued.
Under the magic spell: