Trapped

The Professor couldn’t wait to schedule his first poker night. Probably a lot like I felt hosting my first book club. Filling up the house with friends and food is a lot of fun.

I remember the evening they all came over, bearing cigars and bottles of red wine. Boy, times have changed since my dad’s poker games when all you needed were some Planter’s peanuts and a six-pack.

After tucking the kids into bed, I went upstairs, put on my pajamas, washed my face and sat down to my computer. Damn. What I would have done for a glass of wine. I logged onto Facebook.

What’s on your mind?
Am trapped in upstairs office without wine while husband’s poker night is going on downstairs. Have already applied zit cream.

My next-door neighbor caught my update.

Comment:
I can try tossing a bottle up to you from the side yard.

I imagined trying to explain the smashed chardonnay to the Professor, his work associates and the fathers of my sons’ friends, while hanging out of my bedroom window.

Reply to comment:
Thanks—u r sweet but I’ll manage!

That was when I lived in La Jolla, back in the day, before I moved to Ithaca, before my mother, three aunts and father-in-law joined Facebook. Before my husband worked at a prominent university and I befriended some of his colleagues.

I caught myself really cooking my writing. No one wants to read the first raw thought out of my head but sometimes that's the funniest, best stuff we've got. I feel like I have only two choices. Curb my enthusiasm or be exposed as an unfit wife and mother.

I want to break free.