Southern Lady Code: Essays(3)

“Ooooo,” says the dinner party, Chichi included.

A secret to a happy marriage is: be your partner’s biggest fan. I wonder how many times Chichi has heard her husband tell “The Topeka Three-Way” and I wonder if she “Ooooo’s” every time that she hears it. Every time Beau Beau hears me tell our “Cretan Gorge” story (which includes him force-feeding me protein bars, a donkey strike, and our leaving an elderly woman for dead), he drops his head to read his iPhone.

Mr. Topeka says, “So, we switch seats and the guy promises to buy me a drink, but he never does because we have to emergency land in Topeka.”

“Ooooo,” says the dinner party, Chichi included.

I ask, “Where’s your new seat?”

A pickle-ball player asks, “What does it matter where he moved to?”

“Well, did the guy give up first class for this woman?”

Mr. Topeka says, “Back of the plane, right in front of the toilet. Worst seat ever. But I could still see them canoodling.”

Stop, you think, no straight man says canoodling. You think, Can I trust my narrator?

Well, of course you can’t. Nobody retells a story word for word how they heard it. We embellish. We substitute. We censor. We lie. So, since I can’t remember if Mr. Topeka’s flight experienced turbulence or bad weather, let’s just say: the wings were on fire, so they land.

Mr. Topeka says, “Everyone gets off the plane and gets vouchers for a hotel, and the guy says to me: ‘I ordered a car, get in my car.’ So, I get in his car and now there’s four of us: me, the guy, the woman, and some new guy. And here’s where Chichi gets mad at me.”

Beau Beau says, “Here’s where she gets mad at you?”

Chichi says, “For getting in a car with strangers.”

Beau Beau says, “Mrs. Gentry would have been mad at me for switching seats on the plane.”

“But then there’d be no story to tell.”

“Mrs. Gentry would never let me tell this story to begin with.”

It’s true.

A secret to a happy marriage is: know your audience. Especially, your biggest fan. Beau Beau knows that I don’t like to see movies in which a woman has natural childbirth; and he doesn’t like to see devil possession. So we don’t see these movies. And we don’t tell stories the other one doesn’t like to hear. For Beau Beau, I’ve stopped telling the “Bismarck Bear” story and the “Salem Horse” story because—even though these stories are hilarious—Beau Beau thinks, as he puts it, that he comes off like an idiot. I don’t like to come off as anything other than the only woman in the world, so Beau Beau can’t tell stories about his sex life before me. He can’t tell stories about other women in general. I don’t care if the story is about a pharmacist who sold him Odor-Eaters, I don’t like stories where women get too close to my man.

Mr. Topeka says, “So, we get to the hotel and there aren’t enough rooms, so I agree to room with the new guy, and the canoodlers get a room together. Then the four of us meet up in the hotel bar. And we’re drinking and dancing, and I’m wasted. I mean, I’ve never been so drunk in my life. And then it’s last call, and the three of them are heading off to the woman’s room, and they ask me if I want to go with them.”

“Ooooo,” says the dinner party, Chichi included.

“But I go back to my room alone. I pass out. But then I wake up to my roommate looking through his bag for condoms because they’ve run out of condoms!”

“Ooooo,” says the dinner party, Chichi included.

“And he tells me what’s been going on with him and the other two. He names every position I’ve heard of, and then he asks me, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us?’ And I tell him, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’?”

“Wait,” I say. “So you weren’t in a three-way?”

Mr. Topeka says, “Nope. If I was, it would be called ‘The Topeka FOUR-Way.’?”

“Ahhh,” says the dinner party, and Chichi claps her hands.

A secret to a happy marriage is: make yourself the good guy. Give your biggest fan a reason to applaud. Chichi is happy because her husband did not cheat on her. “The Topeka Three-Way” isn’t a story about a three-way; it’s a story about how Mr. Topeka is in love with his wife.

Now there is an expectation for the rest of us to outdo this story. The new story should be sexual, involve strangers, or be about a plane crash. The storyteller should be a more active participant. The storyteller should be prepared to pantomime a few things.

I look at Beau Beau and there is a telepathic back-and-forth of:

Don’t tell your three-way story.

Don’t tell YOUR three-way story.

Don’t tell your story about pudding wrestling.

Don’t tell YOUR story about stumbling into an adult film set.

So we don’t say anything because sometimes the best stories don’t need to be shared. I may not be a reliable narrator, but I am a reliable wife.





HOW TO STAY


            HAPPILY MARRIED





On his birthday, give him a singing card and shave above your knees. On Halloween, cap your teeth with candy corn and leap out from behind the living room sofa. On Thanksgiving, dab a little Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup behind each ear. On Super Bowl Sunday, incorporate a giant “#1” foam finger into your lovemaking.