I noticed her as she was emerging from yoga class—mat rolled up underarm and tight sweatpants on. I walked swiftly past, mumbling something barely acknowledging her presence as I crossed her.
A few years ago, I knew her name. And that’s not all I knew.
Today, all I could remember about her was that she was “that guy’s wife.” It’s almost as if nothing else mattered, and this was her defining characteristic.
Ergo, it’s more ironic that I’d forgotten his name too. All she was to me was an unknown’s wife.
Has anyone ever advised you to stay away from married women? :P
That rule (commandment?) sure as hell wasn’t made up by a single guy; a single guy over twenty-five in a world where every somewhat-cute, somewhat-smart female has already walked down the aisle by the time she’s barely in her twenties.
Wait – God was married? ;)
I’m sticking with my version of the truth: That an evil cabal of old men—with decidedly lovely wives (who they married by the time the woman reached some semblance of maturity)—made a bunch of stuff up and slipped it to the world by tacking it on to the “words of god.”