Have you ever been out to lunch or dinner and been seated close enough to someone else’s table to overhear them talking? Worse yet, was the private conversation you weren’t supposed to be listening to more interesting than the one you were having? Well, as much as I hate to admit it, something like that happened to me awhile back. I was having lunch with a friend at a crowded Chinese restaurant and seated only a few feet away from me were these two very nicely dressed middle-aged women. I’ll call them Bev and Clare, and both of them were sporting huge diamond rings on their perfectly manicured wedding fingers.
I, of course, made every effort not to eavesdrop on them, but unfortunately, my ears refused to tune them out. In fact, I tried so hard not to hear them that I suffered from ear strain for days afterwards. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I think their conversation went something like this:
“I honestly don’t know what has got into William lately,” said Clare, the woman with the largest diamond ring. “Last night I just about threw myself at him and he didn’t even roll over.”
“Well, at least you’re still interested in that kind of stuff,” said Bev. “I live for the day when John takes up something like golf to get his exercise.”
“You’re just awful, Bev,” said her friend. They both laughed.
“I wonder why it is,” said Bev, “that relatively bright, fully grown men can’t figure out that making love is something women want to do AFTER we’ve had a good time — not something we want to do FOR a good time?
“Exactly,” agreed her friend. “I’m much more receptive to fooling around after I’ve been treated to a nice dinner or taken out dancing, but I can’t remember the last time William asked me to do either one. We just don’t seem to enjoy each other’s company anymore.”
“Well, love,” explained Bev, “a lot of that has to do with his age. John started acting all weird a few years ago, too, but he came out of it.”
“Really? What’d he do?”
“He bought himself a brand-new Porsche, collected half-a-dozen speeding tickets, and got it all out of his system.”
“So, that’s your advice? Buy William a new Porsche?”
They both laughed again, and Bev suddenly seemed to notice that her next-door neighbor (me) was just about to fall out of his chair trying to overhear her conversation. She gave me a dirty look, leaned over her table closer to her friend and lowered her voice. I slyly made like I could have cared less about what she was saying and opened my ears even wider.
The next time I could clearly make out what they were saying, Clare was asking Bev if she had ever met her husband’s mother. “No,” answered Bev.
“Really? I thought you had. Anyway, she’s a big part of the problem. She spoiled William rotten when he was young, and I’ve been bearing that cross ever since. I’ve absolutely refused to let her get her claws into the children, though, and that has caused quite a bit of friction lately.”
“Well,” said Bev, “to tell you the truth, mother-in-law or no mother-in-law, I’ll gladly trade you John for William any day.”
“Will you throw in the Porsche?” asked her friend. They laughed again, and so did I.
“What’s so funny?” asked my lunch companion, looking up from his plate of vegetable chow mein.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, pretending that a little piece of my shrimp had gone down the wrong way.
“If you two are having trouble now,” continued Bev, “what are you going to do when the kids leave? It’s not that far off, you know.”
“I know,” agreed her friend, “and I’ve thought a lot about that lately. I think the first thing I’ll do is insist that we travel. Do you know I haven’t been out of this state in ten years?”
“You’re kidding?” asked Bev in disbelief.
“No, I’m serious. William is a real home body. He plops down on the sofa and watches one stupid ball game after another.”
“Don’t you just hate that?” asked Bev. “John and his damn 49ers. You’d think he was a member of the squad or something the way he carries on during football season.”
“Men just don’t have a clue, do they?”
“Love,” said Bev, “they’re all a pain in the butt, but do you realize that I will have put up with John for twenty-five years come the twelfth of next month?”
“Really?” asked her friend, suddenly genuinely happy for Bev. “Well, congratulations! I didn’t realize your silver anniversary was just around the corner. Twenty-five years. Now isn’t that wonderful!”