Page 26 of Tangled

“It won’t kill John to have to play Dad once in a while, Amy,” Perry says while dipping a chip into my homemade salsa.

Amy sighs. “I know.”

“And you need a break sometimes. Don’t let one bad experience and fight with your husband deter you from getting your mommy time.”

“Fine. One. Drink,” Amy caves as Perry pats her on the back and fills up her cup.

“Okay, so spill, Liv. Why the hell are we gathered here tonight, on a Wednesday?” Clara demands as my three best friends shift forward in their stances, leaning on the kitchen counter, waiting for my answer.

I take a deep breath and then a long sip of my margarita before placing my drink down and running my sweaty palms over my leggings.

“So, you guys remember the man I was talking to at the bar before you left?”

“The lumberjack,” Clara says.

“The lumberjack?” Perry and Amy ask at the same time.

Clara nods. “Yeah. He was decked out in flannel and jeans, looking like Paul Bunyan’s long-lost son. If Liv hadn’t seen him first, I would have climbed him like the tree he probably chopped down before entering the bar.”

The three of us silently chuckle at our blunt and hilarious friend.

“Okay, so what about him?” Perry asks.

“They slept together,” Clara answers for me, as I swat her arm.

“Jesus, Clara. This is my story, right?”

“You slept with him? Was it good? Please tell me it was good,” Amy asks, more than interested in my sex life. She’s told us on more than one occasion that her and John barely have sex because they’re always tired by the time the kids are in bed. Poor girl. I almost don’t want to share how mind-blowing the sex was so I don’t make her feel bad.

Side-note: here’s a common misconception. Married people assume that single people are out having wild and crazy sex all the time, filled with multiple orgasms and abundantly attractive people. This cannot be further from the truth. Those of you who are married should know, being single sucks. My encounter with the lumberjack was pure luck, the exception to the rule. You’re lucky to get regular sex, and if you are, it’s usually in some friends-with-benefits type of situation where the sex is great, but everything else is lacking.

Single people—at least most I’ve talked to—are generally envious of married people. Remember, if you’re single, that means you haven’t found that person that you want to spend the rest of your life with yet. That person who makes you laugh and accepts you for who you are—quirks, flaws and all. The person who loves you without make-up, when you’re carrying around a few extra pounds, or when you have such bad gas, you’re running each other out of rooms from how bad you both smell.

We’re all looking for that, the person you feel so comfortable with that you can have the toe-curling sex, but still wake up to your best friend each day.

So when you hear stories of your single friends having mind-blowing sex, please know that this rarely happens. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.

The grass is greener where you water it.

Don’t search for something beyond what’s right in front of you. There’s a reason you chose that person, so remember that and fight for it. (Solid advice from my parents who still look at each other like the other one hung the moon.)

Otherwise, you could end up in a situation like mine right now, where my incredible one-night-stand is actually my new colleague and I want to pound his face in right after he gives me a few more orgasms.

“Uh, yeah. It was good,” I say, glancing away from my friends.

“I believe you told me that hot wouldn’t even begin to describe it.” Clara opens her big fat mouth again.

Amy fans herself while Perry shakes her head with a grin.

“Okay, fine! It was the best sex I’ve ever had, okay?” I shout at my three friends before pounding my margarita.

They stand there in utter silence, waiting for me to speak again, I’m sure. Clara has a wicked grin, Perry is looking away embarrassingly, and Amy looks like she’s about to hump the counter.

“Why are you yelling, Liv?” Perry breaks the quiet before making her way around to me, placing her hands on my shoulders.

My eyes are closed, my head hung low while I find the courage to share the truth bomb dropped on me two days ago that has continued to rattle my brain.

“Because,” I say, still looking down at the ground. “I work with him now.”

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