Sleeping Around

“Well, here’s the biggest problem,” I continue as I get in line behind a woman at the local café. “He’s not sleeping with me anymore. That’s what’s really upsetting.”

I balance my cell phone between my ear and shoulder as I reach in my purse for my wallet. The barista nods to me for my order. “I’ll have a medium low-fat latte.”

“I know he’s old and lethargic, but he’s just not himself,” I tell Teresa who I talk to every morning on my way to work.

“How should I know where he’s sleeping? All I know is that he’s everywhere but with me.”

The woman in front of me suddenly turns and stares. What is her problem, I wonder. I glance down at my blouse and make sure I’ve buttoned it straight. I was rushed this morning. Make-up? Did I put any on today? I’ve been known to show up at work without it sometimes. My fly, did I zip my pants?

“Of course this is serious. I don’t know what to do to get him to sleep with me again. I’ve tried everything. I drag him into bed with me at night, but he just gets right up and leaves. It’s so painful.”

The young woman takes her drink and turns back towards me again. She’s probably 20-something, dressed in tight black pants, three-inch heels and a colorful fitted top. Maybe she’s going to work too. She dresses just like my daughters who are probably her age. They’re always critiquing my outfits. Perhaps I seem outdated to her in my lower heels, loose-fitting grey pants and black jacket. I didn’t even have my bright-colored scarf on today.

She touches me gently on my arm as she heads out of the café. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It happens to all of us.” She’s gone before I can even say anything.

“Teresa, I have to call you back.”

The barista, also in her 20s, looks at me sympathetically.

“It’s my cat. I swear I’m talking about my favorite cat, Oscar.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I understand. It happens to me too.”