Husband Shopping

Leila

I pulled my hair up into a bun, taking great care to make it look messy. It was ridiculous how much work the messy bun look actually took to be cute. I sat down in the chair in the corner of my room, which was older than I was. I loved vintage anything and when I had spotted the chair in a secondhand store, I had bought it without thinking about how I would get it home.

I had managed, with the help of the old lady that owned the store and the gentleman passing by that took pity on us trying to squeeze the thing into my backseat. It had worked. Getting it out of the car had been another matter entirely.

I pulled on my favorite boots with the chunky heels and rolled up the cuff of my jeans to show them off. The light black sweater I was wearing with the shoulder cutouts made me feel flirty and sexy. I put on my favorite dangly necklace, added a little more mascara to make my green eyes pop and headed out to meet Kami.

I parked my car in the lot of the park where a fishing derby was being held. It was already packed, meaning I had to hike to where I was supposed to be meeting her. I waved when I saw her leaning against a tree, wearing her usual tight jeans, hoodie, and boots.

“You wore your shitkickers?” I asked her with disgust.

“I always wear my shitkickers. You never know when shit needs kicked. I’ll leave the girly girl stuff to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Men are afraid of you.”

“As they should be. Now, let’s get out to the bar.”

“It’s noon!”

She gave me a look. “I didn’t say we were drinking. The bar is where the men hang out.”

“I’m here to enjoy a nice day on the water and cheer on the locals.”

“Me too, while I do a little man shopping.”

I laughed, following her down the path that would lead us to the bar, which was surrounded by water on three sides. The fishing tournament was a big deal in town. Everybody came out to support the anglers while enjoying the various food booths and other vendors set up around the park. It was basically a place to catch up with neighbors while grubbing on good food and meeting new people.

We took seats at one of the tables pressed up against the clear plastic edge that was about waist high to keep people from toppling into the water. We both ordered diet sodas, neither of us big drinkers, especially day drinkers.

“All right, what’s your flavor?” she asked, her eyes shielded by her aviator sunglasses as she scanned the boats and the docks lining the lake.

“My flavor?”

“We’re doing a little man shopping. What do you want? Tall, dark? Blonde? Short?”

I laughed. “I didn’t know there was an order form. I’ve been doing it wrong all this time.”

“Yes, you have. We both have. It’s time to do this right.”

I wrinkled my nose as two men with beer bellies and stained white shirts passed by us. “Why are we shopping here if we’re looking for a specific type of man? These are daddies out with their kids and old guys running from their wives.”

She scoffed. “Um, you need to get your eyes checked. Check out those two over there. Single and ready to mingle.”

I casually looked in the direction she was staring. “Too young.”

“What about those guys over there?” she nodded to a dock where a group of middle-aged guys that looked to be car salesmen or some other type of salesperson were all standing and laughing.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“See, these are the guys we need. They spend all their time fishing or making money. That means, we get to spend their money and we rarely see them. It sounds like the perfect situation to me.”

“That’s not a very good marriage.”

She shrugged. “Who said anything about a good marriage? Seriously, those don’t exist these days. Those are things of the past. They died somewhere in the last century.”

“There are plenty of people who are happily married,” I argued.

“Name one.”

I thought about it. “Well, I can’t think of any off the top of my head.”

“Because you don’t know anyone. Marriage sucks.”

“That’s very cynical,” I told her.

She sipped her soda. “Not cynical. It’s the facts. Half of all marriages end in divorce and the other half are the divorced people getting remarried. You have a fifty-fifty chance of getting divorced. When you think about marriage and all that you have to give up and all the compromise, does it really seem worth it? Then you have to go through the divorce and end up losing half your shit. No thank you. I’ll keep my stuff and just enjoy a relationship that doesn’t have to be sealed with a license—that you have to pay for, by the way.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“What would I be kidding about?”

I gave her a look. “You have to want to settle down one day, have a couple of kids, and sit in those rocking chairs on your porch and watch the grass grow when you’re too old to ride your horse or chase men.”

“I definitely do not,” she said with a scoff.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” I said. “You’re just a big chicken.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not cut out for that kind of life.”

“I guess I don’t have much room to talk,” I mumbled. “I haven’t had a serious relationship in forever. The few dates I have gone on have been complete wastes of time. It seems like every man I go out with is just not right. I could probably fall right into the perfect man and I wouldn’t be able to recognize him.”

“That’s because you work too much.”

I sighed. “You are not wrong.”