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Published on October 16th, 2013 | by Richard Black


How About, Dinner and Maybe Some Swinging?

For the most part I have no complaints about Darcy’s preschool. It reminds me a lot of the preschool I attended although one with at lot less biting and a Spanish language lesson thrown in every once in a while for good measure.

The kids paint and color and play which is the extent of the curriculum, a word I have difficulty associating with preschool. My wife and I didn’t enroll our daughter into a school so that she could master mah jong and read Sanskrit by the time she’s in kindergarten and I’m generally all right with that

Being a single child I want Darcy to learn how to play with other children her age and if she learns how to count to ten in Espanol so much the better.

I like most of the parents too. I’m not saying that I’m going to set up a double date with any of them anytime soon but they seem to be decent people for the most part. There is a faction though, a group of mothers, I’m not so keen on.

Being the primary caretaker of my daughter and a strikingly handsome man I’ve gotten used to a few odd looks throughout the years at the playground. For one thing, and in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m remarkably good looking. For another I’m relatively heavyset with a big goatee and short hair, not shaved but short enough that I could pass for a biker at a cursory glance.

My daughter’s school is close to one of the wealthier neighborhoods in town as well as one of the poorer ones. As such it draws a fairly diverse crowd of white people and one Indian child. Most of the mother’s and father’s work at least part time but a few of the mom’s are dedicated stay at homers much like myself. An even smaller faction of the stay at home gang are fantastically thin, presumably having smoked their way thin, after popping out their fourth and final child. These women remind me of the clique of well-to-do girls who wouldn’t give me the time of day many years ago in high school because they are well off and generally don’t give me the time of day.

I get a nod and a hello at best once a week. Most of the time I am simply ignored which is really quite a feat.

Being stunningly attractive I’m used to a bit of awkward behavior and assumed that this small group of women was just jealous. Having measured their spouses against my rugged good looks and towering 5 foot 9 inch frame they found there husbands to be woefully inadequate. Given their social standing divorce was inconceivable, a terrible embarrassment, an admission of failure. Likewise seduction was off the table. My character and moral fiber were just a few of the reasons they became drawn to me like female moths to a penis shaped flame.

Lacking any recourse, other than suicide, these few poor women were relegated to casting me withering looks that betrayed both envy and longing, engaging in whatever fantasy they could when their flabby pale white men crawled on top of them.

It turns out that I was wrong but it only took me a year to figure it out.

At the school’s ice cream social i noticed that all of the smoke-yourself-thin-on-a-treadmill-crowd were married to fine looking men. All tall dark and full of money.

My only conclusion is that the looks I’m receiving are the result of some congenital defect or that these ladies just be bitches. If I were a bigger man I’d make an effort and, in all fairness to them, I haven’t and I probably won’t. I spent the better part of 30 years trying to make people like me and I’ll be damned if I’m going to start playing that game again.

Being a passive/aggressive malcontent shit disturber I stopped one of these women in the hallway, briefly, and remarked that I found her husband to be an incredibly attractive man.

“It would be great if you and I and our spouses could all get together to grab a bite to eat one of these days,” I said after her stunned silence.

I’m curious to see how it all turns out. The odds are the nothing will come of it and if it does then God help me because I couldn’t back out. My wife will certainly have some questions for me if we do go out to dinner with a woman I’ve complained about on numerous occasions but I think she’ll roll with it.

The real question is how to duck out if we’re asked to take a look at their hot tub and whether I can feign surprise well enough to fool my wife.

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