Weekend: "interesting" with a capital "i"

Cayber has a job. She’s taken over my position as most-fabulous server ever at Chili’s. Apparently, all of the boys are already fawning all over her luscious long hair and girlish good looks. She doesn’t seem very interested though, in typical Cay fashion. She’s concentrating on her ultimate goal (which she just discovered two days ago): to live in France.

Scoff if you like, but this epiphany has brought with it many good things, not the least of which is her desire to actually procure employment (rather than just fill out applications at “cool” places), save money, and (perhaps) consider living with someone other than her parents or siblings one day. All of this is good (very good), and if anyone of the “adult” kids in our family is actually going to make it to Europe, it’ll be Cay. So I’m cheerleading this one. Viva la France.


I met a woman at the pool, who is new to the area, with three kids. She had heard about a wife’s group, and told me she’d let me know if she got any further information on it. So I got a little email from her, letting me know that there would be a “get to know you” lunch on Friday afternoon. Not willing to go alone, but also not willing to pass up a golden opportunity to meet a bunch of new, like-situationed ladies, I called Nae, my Mexas partner-in-crime, and we attended together.

Interesting does not begin to describe the gathering. Upon arrival, we were introduced to a slew of women, all in various stages of pregnancy or child-care. As children 3 ft. high and smaller ran around our feet (I almost stepped on one), a woman told us her name, and then announced that she was “XXX XXX’s wife.” Which was super-dupe for her, but meant nothing to us (or anyone else in the room, since Mr. and Mrs. XXX had just moved to the area 10 days ago). She’ll learn.

We were then herded into the kitchen, where a feast of Little Cesar’s Pizzas awaited us. Nae and I, pizza in hand, made a beeline into the dining-room proper, where we were joined by one or two other women. They informed us that they were from “the Valley.”

When people say “the Valley” in Texas, they are not referring to the San Fernando Valley (which is what I assumed the first three times I heard this phrase). They are, instead, referring to the southernmost tip of Texas: the Rio Grande Valley. For those of you familiar with South Jersey cliques, “valley” people are very similar to the kind of people who hail from Cherry Hill. Or you could just think of it as a huge sorority/fraternity. Regardless of how you envision “valley” wives, know that there is a lot of money involved.

A few minutes later, I was asked how many children I had. I feel that this won’t strike you as quite as odd as it struck me (mainly because you’re reading about it instead of experiencing it with me), but trust me when I say it was weird. Ever since I got married I’ve been asked, “do you have any kids?” I expect this kind of question. It’s legit; most people tend to make babies when they’re wed. Lately, though, that question isn’t even considered. They skip that one altogether and go straight to “how many?” I raised my hand in an “O” shape and said, “zero!”

The room got quiet.

The same lady turned to Nae and said, “do you have any kids?” Nae smiled and said, “I have a dog, that works for me.”

Silence again.

“Well,” said one lady (with a six-carat Harry Winston blinding me every time she took a sip of her Diet Sprite), “take advantage of it. Shopping will never be the same once you have kids.”


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