"Hey, it's me, Rob, I'm running late."
"No problem we figured on that."
Wha? My reputation precedes me? Am I that late that my tardiness got far enough ahead of me to warn others? I check the clock in the car. 6:00 I should be there now. Well, at least I see how they already figured I'd be late.
It's a dinner party. A couple in my Bible study group invited a few of us over for drinks and food. I'm not sure how I got on the short list, but I'm not going to play dentist to the gift horse baring hors d'oeuvre trays. Nay! Nay! I tell you.
I am going to be late though. When I arrive, nobody seems to mind. Whew, timeliness is one of my least endearing traits. If they can see past that then maybe I can fit in.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Sure what do you have."
My host starts a drink list longer than the credit roll at the end of a Michael Bay film. He's in the middle of the alphabetized by region and hop-grade "beers" list when I stop him, "I'll have 
that amber thing you mentioned before your daughter fell asleep."
"Coming right up."
I used to be part of a host team like this. Oh, we didn't have quit the drink list, but it wasn't for lack of trying. We had a full bar, sodas, and at least one decent beer on hand. Now I've got the fermented remains, and half eaten mescal worms. It's fine though. I don't have people over, and I don't do more than pick at the carcass anyway. For me, it works.
For my hosts, they've got everything covered. I do a quick head count: there are six of us. If I were the Sesame Street Count, I'd give a laugh, a light flicker, and acknowledge the two married couples and two single guys. I'm not, I'm one single guy. (One, one single guy. Hahaha!) At least I know this isn't a set up. Oh Lord, I hope it's not…
It's not. Carl, the other single guy, He's coming out of a long relationship, sans marriage. Everybody's sympathetic. So am I. I don't really know Carl or the girl. I know they're probably better off, but that doesn't make a break up suck any less. He's got a good head on his shoulders. And it looks like she let him keep it. He's recovered well.
There's lots of joking, and spaghetti sauce flows almost as fast as the wine. If we could wrap the evening up in 30 seconds, we'd be an Olive Garden spot. Carl and non-host married guy, we'll call him Mr. Perkins, are exchanging hunting anecdotes like war scars. I don't know much about guns or war scars but that doesn't stop me from joining in, although when the guys got to "jerking pigs" I had to feign ignorance. Mrs. Perkins pretends she's never heard this before. Mr. Perkins is a lucky guy.
Dessert was good. I'm not sure what it was, but there were strawberries, cake, and some other sweet fluff I couldn't identify. My Hanzel and Gretel senses were tingling with sugar fits.
"Mmmm! This haus is gut! Here try some of the outhaus!"
"Mmmm! Outhaus!
Yeah, I dined with Midwestern Germans. It's ok, They dined with a Southwestern Scot. I'm sure we'll all live.
Over a bottle of port the married couples pack together and start barking questions.
"So what are you looking for in a woman?"
"What sets you apart from the herd?"
Carl and I did our best to dodge verbal water balloons. Ok, dodge may be a strong word. It's more like jumping up and down shouting "Hit me! Hit me!" while looking disinterested. But Carl and I were at our best. He whipped out a head shot with a bio summary embossed in Ariel on the back. I threw out my old demo tape.
"Come to where the flavor is…come to Debbie country…"
Yeah after show and tell we were threatened with long legged glamazon girls from Mars. Ohhh! Scary.
"Please Briar-Fox, don't throw me in that briar patch!"
When the night settled in, the bellies were full, and the shadows were long. A hush fell on the table. He picked himself up, wiped spaghetti from his brow and promised to never do it again. I know, crappy joke, but what do you want? I'd been drinking.
So the hush fell, and people leaned in towards the candlelight glow.
"Tell us." They whispered.
"I don't know…"
"Come on! We're adults, we're not afraid."
"Well…if it's a ghost story you want, then huddle together and I'll tell you." There were smiles and nods and couples leaned closer."
"I call this story MyUnwife."
"AAAHHHH!"
"It's ok. Hear me now as I unravel a tale of darkness. I offer it as a warning. Arr! Huddle together me chil'rens, an' I'll tell a tale more vile than the Ya Ya Sisterhood!"
"AAHHH!"
"Hey! I liked that movie…"
Nobody knew who said the last line. It might have been the hush. A wind blew through the room and the lights flickered and died. Carl sat alone unable to understand the horror before him. The sillhoette shadow couples knew. They huddled tight the black. They held hands whispering vows to never park alone on deserted roads and to always guard against the hook handed murderer of marriages.
"Aye…"
The evening ended. I, the ancient mariner had warned of the follies of men and women where love pride were concerned. I hope they listened. I hope the stay on the path, because nobody likes to see an urban legend come true.
It was a great night. I haven't been out like that since the divorce. Ok, I did a writers group Christmas, and one Church group social, but those were too close. I was too numb. The bandages were still on and I hadn't assimilated back into society yet. I was an amputee with phantom pains and mental morphine. Last night I was Rob, having fun with friends.
See, as crazy as it sounds, I think I was afraid I lost that. When I was married, MyUnwife and I didn't do much, but whatever we did, we did together. We were each other's social network. When I moved here for her, I gave up my old network. When she left, I was left with nothing but my wits to rebuild. Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a meal. Teach a man to make friends, and he'll never go hungry.
It's good to remember how to do that. I think I need to do that more often.
