three women

In my young and not so carefree divorced days I worked with three women who were friends of like mind.  It was comforting to know that whatever happened in my messy life I could talk about it and receive full attention and sympathy from these muses.

If I was having a problem with a man, which was more times than not,  Wendy would say to me, "Dawn, men are like exotic creatures."  She was in her 30's and she had an affair with a married man whom she met during her college years  while slicing bacon at the meat plant.  He had eight children and Wendy was seriously Catholic and attended prayer sessions during the week as well as Sunday Mass but she allowed herself this one temptation.  He moved to Arizona with his asthmatic wife who had the courtesy to die soon after that and the next day he was on a flight back home to propose.  Wendy uses the word "soul mate" a lot and goes on hunting trips with her spouse despite being a very cerebral and PETA-supporting person.  "You need to treat men in a special manner allowing for their eccentricities and odd behaviors.  They're not like us," she continued.

"They're just like us," said Mary, a gentle woman with a crackling, dry wit who read books about the philosophy behind Grimm's fairy tales.  She was married to a sad alcoholic whom she eventually dumped and then married a fellow with the same tendency, he just hid the booze bottles in better places.  "Men have feelings, too, and they are like little children who need to be pampered and loved.  He's probably just scared, Dawn, and doesn't know how to talk about it."

Susan was a sassy divorcee who wore tight black leather skirts and high-heeled pumps and lived with a manager of a huge sprawling John Deere plant.  He tinkered on antique cars and I never was at the house when Don was there.  He was egotistical and skinny and thought about women in a superficial bored way and after many years he kicked Susan out of his ski lodge home because he had met a younger woman and now he wanted a child.  He married that little blond although the child never appeared and I see them at Appleby's from time to time.  I give him scalding looks remembering how scared and shocked my Susan was, traits not native to that brave girl and she ate nothing but toast and mashed potatoes for weeks. Anyway,  I would repeat my current guy complaint and Susan would descend with wings flapping and fire spewing from her mouth.  "Why that dirty no-good  ************!    I wouldn't put up with that ******* *******  for another night.  Throw his ********  stuff out the window and get on with your life.  Who does he ******* think he is?

Yep, Susan was the preferred confidante, that one was easy.