The look of desperation

As Bushyfest weekend approaches I’m reminded of many past festivals I’ve attended with my girlfriends. We’ve had many good times together. Between Bushyfest, Mattyfest, various church festivals and events like Lionsfest, we’ve danced and partied our way following the popular local bands in the area.

The group usually includes Carol, Jeannette, Stephanie, Cindy, and I. Others who join us on occasion include Stacey, Cheryl, and some of Carol’s friends from Muskego, most whose names have escaped me except for Therese. The only thing about this group is that I’m the odd man out. All are single. Most due to divorce except Stacey and Cheryl. Those two fall into the never been married single category. By powers of deduction, I’m obviously the only married one in the group. It took me a long time to realize that I shouldn’t have been there even though I thought I belonged.

I didn’t recognize it at the time, I never saw the signs. We would go out dancing and drinking. I loved getting together with the girls. I even liked the flirtation with strange men and the idea that I was attractive enough to gain their attention, although it was all superficial and non-threatening. A boost to the ego is a good thing every once in a while. And what’s the big deal about a little dancing to wear off the beer? It was all harmless fun. At least it was harmless to me.

Apparently the single girls didn’t think of it the way I did. They appeared dressed in their best ass-fitting jeans. Make-up was a little heavier than most days and tops were a little tighter/shorter/low-cut /skimpy/see-through (mix and/or match any). They also enjoyed the attention of our male counterparts but apparently they understood the little game we played differently than I did.

Sometimes they actually took offense when I got attention. I didn’t understand why, it was all harmless fun. Lord knows, I certainly wasn’t interested in anything but the dancing and drinking.

The last time we all went out I was horrified. It hit me like a ton of bricks. They all looked alike. I swear they all had on blue jeans, black boots, black top, and black belt. Every single one of them! And it was as if it’s tattooed on their foreheads in size 32 font……DESPERATE. It was like a divorcee uniform.

All I could think of is how ashamed I was to feel this way. And at the same time it really did make sense. They were all alone, some raising children by themselves. They were wishing they had what I had. And I didn’t really understand what they thought I had that was so important until that moment; the companionship, comfort, and reliability of a man in my life that would be there forever. I know love, passion, sex, and money are important but I didn’t see the whole picture. I was going home to a place where I am never lonely, someone is always there waiting, and I never have to feel alone.

Still, they looked so silly, all dressed exactly alike. I found myself embarrassed. I was wearing a mini skirt and pink top so I didn’t look like them but all of a sudden I did feel uncomfortable and out of place. I didn’t want the label of desperately seeking a man, all I wanted was the attention that allowed me to feel like I still had something to offer. My ridiculous need for self-affirmation through others all of a sudden felt as empty and hollow as it truly is. But I did enjoy being out with my girlfriends and that was the truth no matter what.

Note: I’ve never been back to those fests since. My feelings have been affirmed as some of my girlfriends enter into relationships and stop going to the fests with the group. But every time I see a group of women out together I count the divorcee uniforms in the group and I assure you they are always there. And I will throw away the postcard I got in the mail inviting me to this year’s Bushyfest since I won't be attending.