15 Long-Ass Years Later
“What do you mean you’re gonna try online dating?” I ask as I grab a shopping cart from the carousel. On second thought, maybe I should grab one of those anti-bacterial wipes they have handy…
It’s my weekly visit with Janine, and it’s sorely needed. Visiting with her is some of the few hours out of my life that keep me sane. Having kids and a husband keeps me on my toes all the time, so I look forward to the adult conversation and sanity Janine brings me every week.
And the coffee. She always brings me Starbucks, God love her, specifically a venti iced hazelnut latte with one packet of raw sugar.
Delicious.
I suck some down now, savoring each sweet sip.
Janine grabs her own cart and pushes it beside me, hunched over the handlebar and sipping her steaming hot black coffee as we walk down the main drag of the superstore in companionable silence.
“What’s wrong with online dating? I sat up all night last night looking at men’s profiles. Okay, women’s profiles, too.” She gives a short laugh and tosses a bottle of room spray in her cart from an end cap. “There are some whack-a-dos out there. Compared to them, I’m a real prize. This will be a piece of cake.”
I roll my hazel eyes at her. “You are a real prize. I don’t know why you think you need a dating site to find a decent guy.”
She stops in her tracks and turns towards me. “Because. My ovaries are more likely to shrivel up inside my body before some make-believe guy comes and sweeps me off my feet.” She throws her arms up in the air with a frustrated sigh. “I’m freaking tired of not having someone dote on me. I want the flowers and jewelry and the hot sex.”
I snort. “Yeah, because having a man in your life ensures flowers and jewelry and hot sex.”
“Shut your pie hole, lady,” she responds with a laugh. “I didn’t say I wanted to pop out almost half a dozen babies like you and let my love life die a slow, painful death. I just want one decent date, with one decent guy. Or ten.”
“So why not that guy Max at the office? He seems nice.”
She nearly chokes on her coffee. “You’re kidding me, right? Nice? The guy spends half the work day stinking up the bathroom, and the rest of the day walking back and forth to the break room stealing all the good bagels.” She throws a pair of fuzzy socks into her cart and shivers. “Besides, he’s got that weird mole on the side of his neck.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one,” I say, pushing my cart towards the ladies’ undergarments section. Bras and panties of every color jump out at me. I take my hands off the cart to grab a hot-pink cotton bra as I say, “But it’s a big office. The guy of your dreams may be right around the corner. I met Jeremiah at work, ya know.”
“You also met Phillip at work, and look how well that worked out for me.” Janine takes the pink bra out of my hands and places it back on the rack. “Are you picking up on my sarcasm, because I’m laying it on pretty thick.” She holds her hands out in front of her, as if measuring thin air. “Speaking of thick…”
I ignore her and throw the pink bra back in my cart.
“It’s not my fault he turned out to be an asshole of a husband!” I defend, my finger pointed in the air. “My job as your BFF is to lead you to potential candidates. You’re supposed to screen them before you marry them.”
“I did screen him,” she says with a sly grin. “Oh boy, did I screen him before I married him. Over and over again.”
“Gross,” I said. “If I hear one more time about the size of his love muscle, I’m gonna barf.”
“It’s the only thing he had going for him. Well, besides his infectious smile. And you know me, always trying to find the silver lining. Unfortunately for Phillip, that silver lining turned out to be gray hairs.”
“And how did that work for ya.”
“Very funny, smartass.” Janine ignores my question. “Besides, Stiltner met her girlfriend online. They live in Dallas and just got matching tattoos.”
My head snaps in her direction, surprised. I haven’t heard the name Stiltner in years. “Stiltner? I haven’t thought of her in forever. She’s a lesbian? When did that happen?”
“Pretty sure she’s been a lesbian since birth, Becky,” she says with a dismissive tone.
“Well, what’s she been up to?”
“Still defending her title in the roller derby arena.”
“Wait. Roller derby?” I say, crinkling my eyes in confusion. “When did she start doing that? She graduated with a degree in engineering.”
Janine shrugs casually. “Oh she’s still an engineer. You don’t make money doing roller derby. But I guess it’s her passion.”
“How do you know all this, anyway? When do you talk to her?”
“It’s this little place on the internet called Facebook. You really should get an account.” She pauses with a smirk. “Even my eighty-year-old grandma has a Facebook account.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.” Grabbing the cart, I wheel it towards the wall of body shapers and Spanx, eyeing the flesh-toned torture devices with disdain. I’ve never owned one and briefly wonder if I’d be able to breathe wearing one. Then I envision myself having to take the damn thing off at the end of the night. Or having my husband take it off.
I shudder. That is so not happening.
I keep walking.
“Remind me why we’re here again?” Janine asks as she pushes her cart to a round rack of flannel footie pajamas, screen printed with dancing yellow bananas. She takes one off the rack and holds it up. “Seriously? Why is this so big? Who is wearing this?”
“Would you get over here?” I ask, frustrated. “Try to stay focused.”
“How can I focus when I have no idea why you dragged me here?” Janine flips her long brown ponytail indignantly over her shoulder, pursing her lips. “If you don’t tell me quick, I’m buying you the hideous banana pajamas. Oh shit, that rhymes.”
“We’ve fallen into a marital rut,” I say, slightly dejected and feeling myself get discouraged as I watch her flick a black bra with her forefinger. “I’m trying to find a way to spice up my marriage, and I figured the first step was some sexy lingerie.”
Janine spins on her heel and looks at me, surprised. “So you brought me to Target?” Clearly, she is taking issue with our current location. “What the hell, Becky! Why aren’t we at Victoria’s Secret? Or Frederick’s of Hollywood, or somewhere you can buy crotchless panties?”
“Shut up.” I pull some cute blue panties with little white polka dots off a rack in my size, and toss them in the cart. “You know, I only have a couple of hours until Jeremiah’s mom will be calling to ask where I am. We don’t have time to go all the way to the mall.”
“With the way I drive? Like hell we don’t.” She walks over to my cart and looks into the basket, wrinkling her nose and reaching in to pull out the blue underwear I just threw inside. She holds them up, dangling them in front of her face with two fingers like they have an STD. “Um… do you really want your lingerie to say ‘I’m trying to spice things up in my marriage, buuuuuuut instead I bought these?”
“Well, no. But…”
“No buts! Even Stiltner wears sexier stuff while skating around in public,” she says, cutting me off. “Come with me.”
She grabs me by the wrist and pulls me out of the ladies’ undergarments section. I barely have time to grab my purse, and even more importantly, my iced latte, before she yanks me back into the center aisle.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see,” she says with an evil, evil grin.
“You have got to be freaking kidding me.”
Ten minutes after Janine peels out of the Target parking lot, leaving behind a cloud of dust, we drive a few miles down a frontage road and pull into the parking lot of a yellow building straight out of the 1970s. I’m not sure what the hell this place is, but if the giant XXX sign out front is any indication, this is a porn shop.
Oh, hell. No.
Janine pulls into a parking spot between two pick-up trucks and cuts the engine of her Acadia.
“This is your idea of where to shop for my marriage?”
“No,” she says with exasperation. “This—” She gestures wildly towards the building. “This is where you’re going to shop to spice up the bedroom so you can have hot sexy-sex with your hottie husband. So move your ass and let’s go.”
Before I can protest, Janine’s in the parking lot stomping purposefully towards the entrance.
Crap. It’s not like I have much of a choice but to follow her; I either stay here alone, baking in the hot sun like the chicken-shit that I am, or brazen it out and follow her.
Let’s face it—there is no telling how long she’ll keep me waiting if I let her go into the porn shop alone. In fact, knowing her like I do, Janine will drag her feet through the place and waste time just to torment me.
She has a knack for it.
“I’ve changed my mind, Janine.” I clamber out the vehicle and chase after her, my shoes crunching on the gravel beneath my feet. “I don’t need to spice things up in my marriage!”
She turns, grasping the metal door handle, and looks me up and down with narrowed green eyes. “You can’t lie to me, Becky; you’re forgetting I know all your deepest, darkest secrets.” She pulls the door open, gesturing grandly with a bow and smacking me on the ass when I walk through. “You’ve been complaining about your relationship since before the baby was born. And you know what? Even if things were great, grabbing a few things here certainly wouldn’t hurt. In fact, maybe I’ll start a toy drawer…”
I disregard her comment about a toy drawer. “I was just kidding. I have five kids. Things are obviously spicy enough.”
“Having twins doesn’t count; that’s a two-fer. And we both know your last little nugget was a happy accident.”
“Excuse you!” I’m practically shouting as I stop behind her. She’s fiddling with a display of lubricating gel, a look of fascination on her face. “Twins most certainly do count! You try lugging two babies around inside your uterus for nine months and tell me it doesn’t count.”
“Oh, calm down. They count as people, but a two-fer doesn’t exactly prove that your marriage has a whole lot of hot sex.”
“Please don’t make me do this,” I whisper. “What if my pastor sees me here?”
“Then your pastor should be worried about hiding from you—not the other way around. The pervert.”
I slouch my shoulders and drop my head in defeat, but I dutifully trail after her. It’s either that, or stand here staring at the presentation of fuzzy handcuffs in front of me. Dear lord, who knew there were so many kinds of fur?
A loud squeal snaps me out of my perusal.
“Holy shit, look at this place!” Janine twirls in a circle with her arms over her head near a rack of fantasy wear. “It’s like a sexy Merry Christmas to us in here! Yippee!”
Sure enough, there are twinkle lights everywhere behind her, the entire showroom decorated like the holidays are upon us, garland hanging from the ceiling with ball ornaments hooked to each strand. Or wait. By balls, I mean they are actual balls. Vibrators. Sex toys on strings. But it’s really… festive?
Sexy Merry Christmas? More like Tacky Sex Shop of Debauchery.
“I wonder what they decorated for,” I ask, looking around as I try to absorb the massive amounts of sensory overload. “It’s totally out of season.”
“It’s a celebration of all the hot sexy-sex people are having after they shop here! Come on! Get it, Becks? Come?” She grabs my hand again and drags me forcefully to the back where several racks of brightly colored sets of lingerie hang; and I use the term lingerie loosely.
These “garments” look more like hooker gear than bedroom wear. One skimpy set doesn’t even have fabric where it would normally cover the nipples, but rather it just has a triangle of black satin ribbons strategically placed around the nipple area.
I hate to admit it, but there is no freaking way I’m going to find something here that I’ll feel comfortable parading around in.
“So what exactly should we be looking for? What’s going to get old Jeremiah’s blood circulating besides pretty much everything in here?” she asks, fingering the lace cups of a cherry-red demi bra. If you can call it that.
“Would you please stop touching that? It’s creepy.”
Janine laughs. “I remember whenever my mom took me bra shopping as a kid, I would get so mortified because she would literally stick her hand inside and palm every bra cup. I thought it was so gross, and now I’m doing it.”
She releases the bra with a sigh.
“I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” I said truthfully. “I just want to make sure it covers my stomach. And full back panties so my butt is covered. And maybe it could have cute ruffles or something to cover my thighs? Oh! And little sheer sleeves might help cover the jiggle on my arms.”
She levels me with a blank stare. “So… what you’re saying is you want a muumuu.”
My jaw drops in mock offense. “No, I don’t want a muumuu! And don’t they call them caftans these days? Whatever. The point is I’d like to downplay my deficits.”
“Your deficits?” Janine grimaces. “What are you, an accountant?” She grips a nearby metal rack and leans towards me. “Let me tell you something, Becky.” She glares at me over the rack. “You have given birth to five children. Jeremiah was there; he knows this. Do you even see the way he still looks at you? Because I do. Everyone does. He thinks you are just as beautiful now as you were when you got married. Ask him.”
“I know,” I said sheepishly. “I just want to show him that I can still be sexy, ya know? He has never given me a reason to question him or anything. But I never want to have a reason to.”
“Oh my god,” Janine groans, dropping her forehead to the bar in front of her. “When did you become such a self-conscious whiner?”
“When baby number five sucked my boobs down to my knees?”
“Wrong answer.” She whips her head up and her intelligent gaze scans the room. “You!” Janine snaps her fingers and points directly at a random shopper, who is probably some pervy pedophile. “Hey. You!” She snaps her fingers again, trying to get his attention as he sorts through what looks like a healthy pile of porno DVDs. “Can you come here a second? I have some questions for you.”
“Who?” He finally looks up, perplexed, pointing a meaty finger into his chest. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Come here.”
He walks over holding a Jeremy James DVD, looking over his shoulder uncertainly—probably trying to find an employee to rescue him from the two crazy ladies rudely hounding him.
Janine is not deterred by his reluctance. “How old are you?”
“Uh… forty-two?”
“Is that the answer or a question?” She rolls her eyes. “Are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“Any kids?”
“Two of them.” At this point, he’s looking really confused, and I can practically hear what he’s thinking: Why the hell am I standing here getting questions rapidly fired at me in the middle of a sex shop? In broad daylight.
But… he is in a sex shop, divorced with two kids, so for all I know, he thinks this is sexy Janine’s version of speed dating.
My best friend forges on. “Before you had kids, you loved looking at your wife’s body, right?”
He looks around, probably for a hidden camera. “I’m confused. What…? I don’t understand…”
Janine loudly huffs, exasperated. “Just answer the question. Did. You. Like. Your. Wife’s. Body.”
“Sure. She had a great body.”
“And after she had the babies, did you still like looking at your wife’s body?”
Porn guy’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Of course.”
“And why is that?”
He hesitates, tightlipped for a brief moment, a blush creeping up onto his already ruddy cheeks.
“Oh, come on, don’t be shy… We’re all friends here,” Janine cajoles. “You can tell us. Why did you still like looking at your wife’s body even after your kids were born?”
“Because boobs are boobs,” he finally blurts out. “Didn’t matter that they changed. They were mine,” he ends with a shrug and clutches his porn DVD.
“Thank you.” With a nod, Janine turns to address me, an authoritative tilt to her chin. “See? This is why we’re going to leave the muumuus—or caftans, or whatever you want to call them—on the bedroom floor and find you some seriously sexy lingerie for your man.”
She gives me a little shove towards a colorful rack of sheer, threadbare one-piece boudoir robes. “Let’s look at this rack. See anything you like, shout it out.” She pulls out a short baby-blue robe made of see-through gauze. “I sure do like the colors of this one…”
As we walk past porn guy, he clears his throat and taps Janine on the shoulder. She looks down at his hand and shrugs him off as he powers forward, “So, now that I helped you guys out with your little Dr. Ruth session, can I get your number? Maybe take you out?”
“Dude,” she says, eyeing him up and down sheepishly. “Um, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but…” she says, doing her best to let him down easy. She’s failing miserably. “You’re browsing through the porn section of a sex shop. I have no idea where your hands have been. So I’m gonna have to pass this time. But thanks for asking.”
And with that, she turns on her heels, hesitating when she doesn’t feel me moving beside her. “Would you come on?”
Grabbing me by the shirtsleeve, she drags me off towards the sex creams, and Porn Guy is left standing alone holding his seedy Jeremy James DVD, wondering what the hell just happened.