STUDENT WIFERY

I was recently married, and “Wifery” had not been part of my college curriculum. So, as I tried to figure out my new role, “Student Wife” was indeed a fitting description. I lived in constant terror that I would commit the ultimate blunder to jeopardize W.S.’s entire professional future. So, when I received an invitation to my first faculty wives open house, I was relieved when Annie, another graduate student wife, invited me to accompany her.

The gathering was being held at the brand new home of a recently arrived faculty member, and neither Annie nor I had been foresighted enough to write down the address. Of course, this was before cell phones or GPS systems had become part of daily life. After driving around the subdivision for 30 minutes, I was elated when we spotted a house with several cars parked in front, and Annie exclaimed, “Here we are!”  Then she added, “We are 20 minutes late. The door’s open, lets just sneak in and mingle.”

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I worked my way through the crowded room to the refreshment table. Pleasantly surprised, I discovered a variety of tea sandwiches, pate, smoked salmon, cheese, fruits and sweets. Filling my plate, and grabbing a glass of wine, I began to relax, and discreetly slid into an empty chair that had been placed into a little alcove next to the living room. Happily, I could sit here until Annie said it was time to go home. But, eating tea sandwiches doesn’t take too long, and after my plate was whisked away by a young woman in a starched white apron, I was left with nothing to do but drink another glass of wine and watch people eat and talk to each other.

Furtively glancing around the room, I made eye contact with a woman sitting on one of the sofas in the living room, and she beckoned me to join her. Desperately wishing that Annie had told me which of these women was our hostess, I smiled and reluctantly walked over and sat next to her, as she greeted me effusively; “It’s so nice to see you!” “It’s nice to see you too,” I responded. Then she asked me, “Have you known Katherine for a long time?” “No, I can’t say I have,” I responded.

Was Katherine our hostess? Perhaps I could find out by asking, “How long have you known Katherine?” “Too long,” she laughed, “She’s my sister.” At that moment a woman of massive girth plopped down next to me on the other side of the sofa. Now I was trapped. “Marie,” said my new friend, “have you met---? “Oh, yes,” I lied, “Marie and I had the pleasure earlier.” Marie, distracted by a waitress bearing another tray of little some things, put a rolled finger-towel in her mouth.

Taking advantage of her predicament, I quickly excused myself and hurried over to Annie, who hissed into my ear, “We’ve got to get out of here. This is the wrong party.” The pate had made her suspicious, and after some discreet questions, she discovered we were one block off course and were now crashing a bridal shower. We had to get out of there before they began opening gifts. The front door was ajar and our hostess was greeting newly arrived guests. Annie whispered, “Keep your head down,” as she shouted, “Thanks!” and dashed past the group at the front door. But before I could follow her, I felt a hand on my arm and found myself face-to-face with our hostess.

“Beautiful affair,” I mumbled. “Well, I am so glad you were able to come,” she smiled, but, “Who in the Hell are you?” hung in the air---heavy and unspoken. How could I explain to this proper lady that I had entered her home, eaten her food and drunk her wine (two glasses) and didn’t even bring a gift? In desperation, I blurted out, “I had a nice visit with Marie!”

Relieved at hearing a familiar name, she responded, “Doesn’t she look marvelous after her face lift?” I could honestly answer, “I hardly recognized her.”
My hostess let go of my arm, blushed and asked ever so nicely, “ I am mortified, but I have forgotten your last name. Luckily, at that moment, Annie tooted the car’s horn. So, I said, “Oh, there’s my ride. I must run.”

But halfway down the walk, I turned, waved and shouted. “Don’t worry about it, sometimes that happens to me, too.”

Esther Blumenfeld
CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld c  2006