Dinner for Schmucks

What a fantastic weekend I had with my kids. We went to the beach where I attended an old high school get together. All of my old chums from school brought their kids, and it was just a fun atmosphere where everyone pitched in and watched the little ones, helped with sunblock and snacks, and just laid back. It was great to see familiar faces and catch up, and also interesting to hear who was married, who was not, and why. My kids didn't want to leave and were utterly exhausted when we did, falling asleep with mouths hanging open in mid-sentence before I could fasten their car seats. Of course in the midst of all the fun, I had some fun of my own trying to imagine what this day would have been like if Derek had come with us. It's a fun game because I know that first of all, this day would never have happened. For him to lower himself to spend time with my old friends and (gasp!) some old boyfriends, too -- would have brought pain and suffering down upon everyone within a three-mile radius, and the number of times I would have heard about his sacrifice afterwards wouldn't make it onto just one calendar. But okay, I realize that's a typical marital problem: lots of spouses dread going to old-friend and relative functions. Fair enough. With Derek however the misery and yes, anger over an experience like that would not have been mainly about my friends, it's just the way he chooses to process most happy get-togethers, regardless of the crowd's make-up. Christmas dinner, New Years dancing, Easter brunch, birthdays and even our anniversary are all opportunities for him to criticize, complain, and, oh yes, blame me. Yaaay. Nowhere is there a bigger wet blanket than Derek. Even when we used to go to dinner at a fabulous steak house with great atmosphere and a flurry of eager staff just waiting on our every need, if we saw a party nearby where people were laughing and smiling amongst each other, Derek would scowl and glare disapprovingly at them: "My god," he would hiss, "What horrible people. Unbelievable how ridiculous some people can act. They have no manners at all, just a bunch of pigs..." and on and on he would go with his critical commentary, never forgetting to add that these laughing people were ruining his good time, as if we were ever having one in the first place, ugh! Exasperating. "But they're just happy," I would say rather half-heartedly, my head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. That happened so many times and each time I sat at a table with Derek and experienced this episode I thought to myself, "Yeah, they're laughing alright, and they're loud, and they're smiling at each other, and I want to be at their table, my table sucks!" Well now I'm at their table. Metophorically speaking. This weekend was my time to be "at their table." And guess what -- it's a lot more fun over there! After the beach festivities a friend of mine sent me a note and said, "You should email so-and-so, she couldn't make it this weekend but she was married to a schmuck too, so many of our friends were it seems; you guys all belong to the strangest club!" I thought that was so funny; there's this movie out right now -- "Dinner for Schmucks." It's about something having nothing to do with abusers, but the title is still spot on for many, MANY of the dinners I've had. I guess the only question is who was the schmuck at my dinners: my husband, or me for being there in the first place. It doesn't even matter. I've canceled that reservation. Bye bye, Schmuckie. Until next time, dear friends...