She's Somebody's Daughter

"What do you want to do?" Ben asked me. We were leaving the parking lot of Roaring Rapids, just the two of us. We found ourselves, suddenly and miraculously without children, having dolled them out to three separate families for the evening, before we left Sierra's 6th birthday party.



"No way! We're not doing this again. I'm not making all of the plans!!" I thought it was a challenge he would answer directly with, you know, a plan.


We are not successful at dating. We have been together for almost 19 years and we have never "dated" well. I suppose it's the pressure associated with dating. I'm not really sure as to why it doesn't work for us. We attempted a couple of dates in High School, but Ben hates sitting in a movie theater, or any theater, or anything involving going to town, and as soon as you slap the date label on something he's squirming and running the other way, or he just falls asleep. When he got his first house at 18 and I got my curfew extended to 10 0'clock I would drive over to visit and try to hatch a million plans of things to go out and do. He'd shine me on, find something to eat, go sit on the couch and fall asleep. Every time. He works hard. I get it. We've fished, we've hunted, we've built things, we've made lots of babies . . . we don't date.


Silence . . .


I hate this silence. Is this what happens after all of this time? You find yourselves alone together and all there is is silence. Not the comfortable "just being" silence. The "this is killing me" silence. I planned out a date a couple of weeks ago, against my better judgement. I arranged for cousin Wendy to come over, cleaned the house, went through seven stupid outfits. All I asked was that Ben try to come up with some plans, after omitting the first couple of things that generally come to his mind. We encouraged the kidz to use their good behavior, suggested some fun activities, gave the "Don't burn the house down" speech, kissed and hugged and tried not to frighten poor Wendy with the gravity of being responsible for four children who happen to be my life's blood . . . . Then we hop into the car and we're off. Woo Hoo. I'm so grown up! A real live date with my husband. I shouldn't ask. Don't ask. Maybe he has something fabulous planned. No expectations Tammy. No expectations.



"Sooooo, where we going?" I ask. I'm so predictable.



"Hell, I don't know. I thought we'd just find a place somewhere." he laughs, completely satisfied with himself. Uuuuhh!!



"I knew it!! You didn't come up with a plan!!! Heaven forbid you come up with a plan. The one thing . . . " I just stop, mid-sentence, he's already stopped listening to me and is looking out his window to see if any geese are circling to land in Billy's pond. Whatever!! I can do "find a place somewhere".



We ended up at McGrath's. The food was really good but I couldn't make conversation to save my life. I kept looking across the table, feeling a little desperate. I only have so many facial expressions and I was wearing out "this is me incredibly cute and all" pretty darn quickly. ... Don't talk about the kidz, Tammy. Don't talk about the kidz! Don't ask him about work. Crap!! ...Say something!! ...Forget it! Resort to facial expression #16 - raised eyebrows and dimples. There was just this painful, awful silence. I found myself happy to see the waiter approaching, hoping he might fuel some spontaneous conversation. If I waited tables, I would consider that part of my job requirement. The food was wonderful and the waiter was attentive, thankfully, and so we talked about that, in between the silence.


I shuddered a little when I realized we were going to just end up somewhere again. I guess I didn't do it so well. We're approaching the end of the parking lot. Home, where he'll fall asleep, or town, fun ..... "Fine." I relented. "Let's go watch a movie." Okay, I panicked. It was weak, but it was a start. He could modify "the plan" if he wanted, but at least we had the start of some direction.


"Alright." he agreed, the way he accepts it when I tell him we're having a pasta dish for dinner instead of meat. "If that's what you want to do, we can go sit in a movie theater. I guess we won't talk then." This ought ta be great. Who's steering this machine anyway? I didn't want to make the plans. I really wanted to do something he wanted to do, with exception to those previously mentioned conditions. I hate the "Tammy presents all the ideas and Ben just criticizes them and we come to no conclusion" game we play.


Silence . . .



We started to motate towards town. "Well, if you feel like being around people we could go to a bar or something." Good Job Ben!! Modify away.



"Sure!! I'm game. That sounds a little more fun. I don't know of any good place to go, though. I don't know the whole scene anymore. I'm so lame." I am. I really am totally lame these dayz.



"I don't know. All I have on is my work boots. I'm not going to be any good for dancing."



"Aw ~ you're good. I've just got my day clothes on, (which was true, except for the beautiful yellow lace blouse I bought a couple weeks ago when I was really, really upset at Ben) and . . . Hey, . . . ", looking down at myself in the dark car, "... chk chk (wink), I've got MY boots on." Which, Ben knows, translates to "I'm in my element. I'm sassy. I'm bringing the farm with me. If I go to a bar, I'm not looking for trouble, but if it comes my way, I'll hold my own."



One of the first stories Ben ever told me (realizing right away how talented he was at storytelling) was the one of he and Butch up at Cottage Grove Lake, which had a reputation of being a rough place when we were kidz. Ben and Butch were done swimming and were walking towards the truck when a car load of Grover guyz pulled up to them. The guyz tried stirring it up and started threatening this and that. Ben told me how he counted and simultaneously accepted that there were six of them against just him and Butch, who were both miserable and standing there with their shorts soaked and no shoes. He waited until they finished their insults and just quietly said, "Alright boyz. Why don't you give me a minute to get my pants on and we can go ahead and make something of this." He told me he just wanted to get his boots on. He turned and walked over to his truck, just like that. He wasn't asking permission. By the time he got his pants, boots and hat on the guyz had decided differently. I've always loved how he can be so completely in the moment. Shifting and adapting to whatever happens, as it is happening, but he always stays the same.



He's grinning, "Ooooooorrrrr . . . . ya know . . . we ARE in Springfield. There's about a zillion strip joints we could go check out."



"Oh, sure, I bet they're real swanky. " I decided to let it go. I'm going to let it go. Let that go. Oh Blah Dee, Oh Blah Da . . . Do Dee Do . . . Jogging thru my chronicles of life experiences here . . . Nope. No "went to the nudie bar with my husband." I'm pretty sure it's a bucket list item for everyone though. Hmmmmm . . . . There is THAT ONE NIGHT . . . . That one night that is still haunting me . . . . The bachelor party. It made perfect sense that Ben would be the designated driver. He has never drank. He's the responsible one. It was all a matter of practicality. It was all fun and games until I laid there in bed that night, with my 5 week old baby girl, and reality, or the reality I was imagining (which is one of those times when a beautiful imagination isn't such a blessing) was washing over me. I made it an issue and I've made sure it's haunted Ben too. I wouldn't let him tell me any details. I didn't want to know a single one. I was going to go ahead and make them all up on my own, of course. Him pawing at the girls. Smiling his little grin . . . That's supposed to me MY grin!! Seriously??? He thinks he's going to take ME into one of THOSE places??? I'm a 35 year old wife and mother of four small children. I am a Christian woman!!



"Yup, I'm all in. Take me to a nudie bar."


"WHAT!! I'm not gonna take YOU to a nudie bar."

"Oh, really?" I was offended. Ooooooooo ~ It's on, buddy! Like I'm your Grandma or something? I can go to a nudie bar. I'm a big girl. I'm bad. I'm, I'm, I'm . . . .naughty. Ooooooo ~ You asked for it.

"Seriously? You'll go to one? You won't freak out or anything? Ah ha ha ha!!! We'd better get you drunk." Thus begins the tee hee hee of the evening.

"Well, we're not going to anything in Springfield though." I psha.

"Only you, Tammy, could be a snob about going to see naked chicks."

"What?? I can be a snob about seeing naked chicks. You have to be a snob about seeing naked chicks." That's completely legitimate. Right?? There you go with the conditions again Tammy. You're no fun. You're thinking about this too much. You always ruin everything. Pretend you're a newspaper reporter. It's an experiment. It's just a live anatomical comparison. The female form. You need to not think so much about it. "Aaaaand, yeah, take me to Alan's and get me good and drunk."

Two whiskey sours, three shots of Tequila and one plate of super secret smoked spicy hot wings later (Thank you Alan), and we're on our way. . . "Giggle, giggle, giggle . . . Alright, alright. I'll stop texting people and be done with the 'I'm such a dumb drunk girl' talk." I'm so stinking fun. I'm enunciating perfectly, I'm sure.

"Thanks, because I have to go get some 20's changed into ones and I don't know if I can trust to leave you in the car alone, Tammy. Come on."

"Fine. Tee hee hee . . ." Oh, that reminds me . . .I need to get money changed for the kidz' allowances. Hmmmm. . . . Can I really do this? This is so questionable. Maybe I should wear a little mask or something to cover my eyes. Look around, maybe there's something you can use. Oh, lovely, a 3 ft X 4 ft scrap of leather. That's all you've got!! You suck!! I should be able to procure supplies to outfit a spur of the moment overnight camping trip with things I pull out of the console alone. What if Camble would have thrown up today? You can't come up with anything better than a ginormous hunk of leather??? Great. That'll be suttle. Besides, I bought that to finish off the diaper bag I am making. Wouldn't that be classy . . . "I prayed for the health of you and your baby while I knitted this bag and the leather helped to shield my eyes from the perversion of the nudie bar I agreed to go to with Ben. Here ya go." Uuuummm, how 'bout NO. Why did he leave me alone??? Where am I?? What are we doing again??

Ben hops back into the car with a pile of dollar bills. We chat a little. I think we've talked the whole night away. Wow! "Welp, here we go!!" Right across the road and we're there. The Silver Dollar Club. Perfect. That's where Ben went. I can conduct my little experiment. I can see what he saw. I can . . . .

"GOOD LORD!! I CAN'T HAVE MY CAR PARKED HERE!!!! No, No, No . . . . . What were we thinking??? What if somebody sees me??? No way!! I'm not doing this!!"

"Relax. Don't freak out!! I know, I know . . . The bumper sticker. I'll back in over here. I got your back." See, he's the responsible one.

We're walking in and I feel his hand squeezing . . . and I remember the other times it's squeezed like that he was praying, "Please let the baby be healthy. Please let the baby be healthy." This time he was praying, "Please don't let her change her mind. Please don't let her change her mind."

We're a little confused on how to get into the joint. After some debate, we see the smoking section outside and so I cough, on purpose, all fakey like, thinking we'd have to fend off the cloudy crowd, "Oh, I can't do smoke, Ben. It makes me sick." Forget the poison I've just willingly consumed. That was practically medicinal though.

"No smoking inside public places in Oregon, Tammy. Nice try. You're good." He skirts me around to the left, where the real entry door is. Oh that's right. He's been here before. That dirtbag. That bastard.

I'm holding my I.D. in my hand, because the last time I believe I've been to a bar that was the appropriate thing to do. The door guy kinda laughed and just asked for the cover charge. I used to not have to pay those. I used to not have to pay those!!!! Ben's making small talk as to cover for the "My wife is lame. I can't believe she's 35 and just furnished her I.D." blunder. I check my humanity at the desk and we're off to find a table. "I hope they're not hotter than me!!" Did I really just say that out loud? Kinda, sorta, maybe with my outside voice ??? Woops.

"Geez, Tammy, that was loud! Let's just find a table."

I'm doing the nervous penguin shuffle around the room, trying to navigate thru the group of tables and get oriented. I didn't really want to be oriented. We settle on a table and I set my eyes somewhere over there, way up high to the left, directly opposite of the featured attraction. Ben is laughing hysterically. I finally realize he's laughing at me. "You're so cute!! You're staring at the ceiling!! You can't handle this, can you? You can't watch people kiss is movies and now you can't even look!! Hey look, your braces are glowing!! That's awesome. Here comes a waitress. You'd better get something."

My braces are glowing. I can't see my own braces dim wit. I'm so nervous, I can't stop smiling. The biggest, cheesiest smile this side of the Mississippi. That kind of smile. Ugh. How humiliating. Ben, just take your pocket knife out (smile) of (smile) your (smile) pocket (smile) and (smile) cut (smile) my (smile) lips (smile) off. (Still smiling.) At least I'm not wearing any white. Well, would you look at that . . . with all that talk of boots we didn't even notice your white shirt Ben. I'm going to have to remember to burn that. "Ben, you're wearing a white shirt. You're whole body is glowing. Glaring. tee hee hee."

The waitress is standing beside me, to my right. I can't hear what she asks me. I resort to my crowded room manners. Nod, smile "Could I please have a shot of Tequila?" Appropriate pause . . . "Thanks." Oh no, she's asking me something else. Doesn't she know I'm floundering here? I've already had to turn my attention to what's going on over my right shoulder. Is that supposed to be a school girl theme going on there? She's kinda chunky. I think she's bigger than me. Yay!! This is what guyz do in locker rooms, isn't it. "Ummm, sure. Thank you." I have no idea what I've just agreed to. She must have realized what a pitiful mess I was because I barely had time to get my eyes fixed back on my happy wall spot and there was a drink in front of me. "Salt and Lime, you are my friends. Oh my goodness, she's naked!!"

My nickname at home is "Damn it." I think this was the third time I'd earned that special name for the evening. "You are so loud, Tammy." Bad dog.

"I'm sorry. It doesn't seem real. It's all very much like a movie."

The school girl was going around scooping up her earnings, not so much with her hands, when the next girl was starting her show. Oh, how sanitary. They wipe the pole down with a clean towel. How do they figure on incorporating that in their dance? I was surprised by how thin the next girl was, in contrast. If I was going to judge the overall shape of the first girl, versus the second, I would put the first girl over the second. Bigger hips, more feminine features . . . Oh, lovely, I've resorted to judging conformation and breeding characteristics. Let's not. Oh, no, lets . . . "Good Gravy!! She's quite the acrobat. No way! That's kind of amazing." Now, Ben is laughing at me again. I'm not sure if he's going to be more entertained by them or me. Oh, I don't want to think that. I notice there is a stage in the back right corner.

"Yeah, but she's too thin. I like my girls with a lot more meat on their bones." Whew!!

Speaking of thin . . . . "She is scary thin. I think that is what will happen to Sammy when she grows up if I don't remember to bring her groceries." I think out loud.

"Okay, hold on!! You can NOT bring up my daughters name in a place like this! That's just wrong."

"Why not? SHE'S somebody's daughter." I nudge my head to the skinny little acrobat.

"Do you want to just get out of here?"

"Yup." I'm already getting out of my chair.

"Hold on, hold on. You can't leave in the middle of the song. That's just rude."

I sit back down. Oh, that's nice to know. There is nudie bar etiquette. What was I thinking?? I wouldn't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings.

"You don't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings. She might think we don't like her." He shoots me his grin and we're both laughing again.

The song ends and we stand up. I'm leading the way to the door. Ben puts his hand on my shoulder, turns me and starts to direct me to the stage in the back right corner. "Where are we going? Where are we going?"

"Be quiet. We're going to sit up close and personal back here. tee hee hee"

"Oh my goodness. What does that mean?"

"Come on, I'll show ya."

The woman dancing had long, bleached blond, perfect curling iron shaped (with the help of lots of hairspray) crispy curls. She was wearing a white, strapless negligee with black fishnet nylons. Obviously, I was paying more attention to the details now. There was nowhere to hide. When I started to shimmy myself up to the bar she looked right at me and spoke something to me. At least, I thought she had. Who knows. Again, I couldn't hear. "Was she talking to me? Can she do that?"

"Yeah, I think she likes you. Put some bucks up there."

That must be part of the nudie bar etiquette. If they talk to you, you give them bucks. Man, bringing this guy along was just the ticket. Hey, wait a minute . . . Ben was laying his bills out nice and flat beside me, then folding them in half lengthwise. He starts stacking them on the rim of the stage. One, two, three for the foundation ~ now for the second story. Hey wait a minute . . . "What are you doing? Are you baiting her in? How did you know how to do that?"

"It's a brotherhood, sista." Big grin. She danced her way here and there and then, of course, back over to the bucks. She started talking to me again, but so was the waitress. I didn't want to be rude, back to basic manners, but the waitress took precedence in my book.

I can't hear well under good circumstances. I had a doctor that tried to approach me about it once and I waited until he was done talking and then politely asked if he could go ahead and fax my prescription into Bi-Mart, since I was only there for a bladder infection. I haven't done anything about my ear, but I don't complain about it either. That buys me the "leave me alone about it already" liberty. Talking on the phone or entering a crowded room closes the lid on my tin can world though. I can't hear a thing. It's physically uncomfortable at first until I remember to rely on body language and instincts.

I had ordered another shot of Tequila, I think. By now I could sense that this woman was really having a good time up there. She wasn't grose. She was actually kinda fun and I was catching on. She wanted to play. Being a woman means you are fierce when you are protecting your children and downright viscious when you are feeling threatened about your man. But messing with him . . . Alright, let's play. It's a sisterhood, brotha. With a wink, it was on.
"Holy cow!! She's coming back over here for you!!" tee hee hee "I think she really likes you."
"I know." The waitress set the shot of Tequila in front of me and turned to Ben, obviously the responsible one, who had to give up a stack of his precious bucks. "It's the boots." I gave my Elvis sneer. I reserve that for these special moments when I know it'll have a lasting impact. Gulp, salt, lime. "What??"
"She wants you to touch her!!" Ben said all happily surprised. I'd missed something. Thru a series of expertly executed moves that I will not describe in detail, she had managed to twist and turn and gracefully place herself in front of me, with her back facing me. My timing was out of sinque and I had lost my place when I tipped my head back for the shot. Wow!! All THAT in the time it took for me to take a shot? I would have fallen on my ass if I would've tried half of those moves. I bet she practices. Maybe I should practice those? I better give her a little rub here on the back of the arms to let her know I admire how she managed to orchestrate all of that without falling on her ass. Okay, I'm back in the game.
"Tammy . . . . TAMMY . . . she wants you to undo her bra!!!"
So much for the sisterhood. I wasn't keeping up with the pace. I was way out of my league here. "Oh, oh, okay. Under her bra. What is under her bra?"
"NO!! UNDO HER BRA!!!"
Obviously. She had her shoulders pulled in to her chest to arch her back, which she was pushing directly into my face. She pulled her crispy locks over one shoulder, to make it easier to see my working area, I assumed. That was thoughtful. I started with my hands on the outside of her ribs and kind of walked and rubbed my way the center of her back and felt around for the hook and eye. Then it occured to me, "I've never taken another woman's bra off before!!" This is exactly opposite of how I take my bra off. Everything is backwards here. Well, naturally, she hasn't turned it top down, inside out and spun it around so the back is in the front so I can see exactly what I'm supposed to do. It's all covered up. I can't get it undone. This must be what it's like for men to have to fumble with these things. This is awful. She's being really patient. Ah ha!!! Finally!!! Yay!! The bra was undone and I gave her a quick little slap on the shoulder to let her know the job was done. Kind of a "There ya go." Apparently, that gave her some ideas.
I was getting lots of "Good Girl"s from Ben. We were all "Woo Hoo." You can be all "Woo Hoo."
Then she was up and dancing and the negligee was falling to the floor and all of her moves accounted for it. I felt a little sense of accomplishment, like I had helped to maintain the progress of the situation. But the slap was coming back to haunt me. Pretty soon she was back over to me and I hadn't put any bucks on the edge of the stage. Is she talking to me again? Dang it!! I can't hear anything!! "Is she talking to me?" I turned to Ben.
"Woo Hoo Hoo . . .Woo Hoo . .. " He was no help at all.
Okay - there can be a little bit too much Woo Hoo. Oooh . . . She doesn't want me to touch her there . . . . Oh . . . OOOOhhh. . . . Spank . . . She wants me to spank her there . . . and . . . . Oooooohhhh . . . she wants me to spank her therrrrrrrrrrrrrre . . . . I'm not spanking her . . . "Oh my goodness! Does she want me to spank her there?"
"Well, I'm guessing so, since she's asking and pointing . . "
Spank!!! And spanking. She was spanking herself here and there and I had completely jumped ship. So much for the boat she and I were in. You're on your own, Sista!! Thankfully, the song came to an end. We exchanged lots of "Thank you's" as she was exiting the stage and then Ben and I picked back up with our "tee hee hee"s. That was funny stuff. I was scared half out of my mind. I really, really had to pee. Oh, in between songs . . . good nudie bar manners . . .
The next girl was getting up on stage, wearing a long skirt, which I considered completely pointless, since I knew it was coming off. That skirt is coming off. That woman is going to be taking that long skirt off and I really have to go pee. That means, I have to leave Ben alone . . . with a woman who is taking her skirt off in front of him . . . Peeing your pants isn't going to make you altogether too attractive Tammy. Gravity won. I've had four children. I can't hold it, even in that situation. It was just the towel-the-pole-down part of the act, so I got up to find a bathroom. I looked up and she made direct eye contact with me. Oh no! She see's me leaving. I don't want to hurt the poor girls feelings. I'll leave her my husband in exchange for my rude behavior. "I HAVE to go to the bathroom."
I came back from the bathroom about halfway thru her song. The skirt was nowhere to be found. When I sat down, I had to ask, "How's it going? What did I miss?"
"Not much."
She was dancing her way back over to us . . . to me. Here we go again. This must be the angle. Suck up to the wives. Of course, all I can think about is "What if she has a family at home?" I put some bucks on the edge of the stage.
"There you go. Help feed her family honey."
"Do we have anything bigger than one dollar bills?"
"We did, but I used them to pay for your shots. Man, when you were gone, she wouldn't have a thing to do with me. I even had money up there and she wouldn't even look at it. I think they just like you."
Maybe it was the lighting, but everything looked yellow. I remembered my lacy blouse and started to wonder if I should offer it to her. Here ya go. What a wonderful ensemble, what with your teensy weensy little yellow thong and my lacy western button down blouse and all . . . Well, never mind that. There went the thong. I'm keeping the shirt. Oh no, . . . The little yellow thong had gotten caught up and around her right platform shoe. The heighth must have been needed to make up for the length of the skirt. It broke her rythym and drew attention to the culprit, and to those shoes.
"Check out those shoes!"
"Yeah, I'm on it."
I was fiddling with the necklace I was wearing. I had just finished remaking a neckalace for my mom a couple of days ago. The beads had slid all over and out of place the first time she wore it. When I was re-making it I realized I had forgotten her birthday. It was too late to call and I'm great at accepting the idea of being a heel. I had put it on that night to wear in spirit of her and to make sure that I really did a bang up job on making it super duper sturdy. I like to generally over build everything, but I had made this necklace too flimsy the first time around. I made sure to get it right this time. Looking down at the necklace between my fingers made me think of my mom. It made me think . . . I am somebody's daughter . . . That was it. I was softened. The anticdotal applications of alchohol weren't working anymore.
"You want to go, huh."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just not fun anymore. I'm feeling like I should give her the money I have set aside to pay the mortgage for what she just showed me. All of that for a dollar???"
"No problem. Soon as the song's over. Look at that girl over on the other stage though."
The song was ending and I made sure to say a few "thank-you"s, but I was excited to have Ben take my hand and start leading me towards the door. He paused when the girl from the middle stage starting coming down the steps and he let her walk in front of him and pass to the left. Geez, are ya trying to squeeze in one last look? What the heck? Get me the heck out of here. He took a step over to her and set a stack of folded money down in front of her and said, "Thank you."
Because I'm so talented at stating the obvious, "Oh my gosh, Ben. Did you just give her a stack of money?"
"Yeah, I did."
"What the heck. Did you like her or something?"
"Yeah, I did. She was shaped just like you."