Snookered again:

What is it about men and belonging to clubs like soccer clubs, golf clubs, tennis clubs and so forth?

“My love why do you feel the need to belong to one of those clubs?” I ask curiously.

“Because it’s male bonding and who else can I play snooker with?” He asks.

“Fair point,” I think while my eyes roll so far back in my head, I am almost dizzy.

But I recall that I am meant to be supportive so here I am being as supportive as what I could be. Even if I didn’t like it. It’s not that I have an issue with him going but I don’t like the idea of being dragged along to chit chat and have high tea with the wives of his snooker friends while they dissect me with their eyes. In those situations, I always feel like having tea with them and jumping up from the table, pushing my chair back and saying, “Boo!” And watch them gasp or faint in horror.

The little evil in me so badly wants to shake them out of the bubble they dwell in. No, they don’t live in there, they dwell. That’s not what I would call living.

Tuesday evening and my love is looking so handsome in a smart, shirt and pants with a matching waistcoat and a bow tie. Yep, a bow tie. He looks ready to attend a prestigious black-tie affair or is a secret assassin, (they also look smart when they’re about to murder someone)

Despite my protestations, he convinces me to accompany him and watch him play snooker.

“Yippee!” I can barely contain my sarcastic self and I reluctantly agree.

Once there, I can’t help but notice that the men are older than my love and they reek of wealth. The women who accompany their husbands are dripping in jewellery which looks as if belongs to the royal family.

I am the only person of colour. Brown in a white world. The side glances I am getting is making me uncomfortable. My love is equally as formal and introduces me to his newly found friends.

“Are we waltzing at any moment?” I whisper to him because it’s so quiet in there. Quiet and dark. There are only lowlights and I hope I don’t trip on the heels I’m wearing.

“Behave my darling and be nice!” He tells me while trying to hide his laughter.

After being seated at this very quiet game that’s played in the dark (insert eye roll here), it is finally my loves turn to go. I’m so proud. I understand the game because he explained the rules to me.

My love goes down cue in hand and starts playing. He is leading and his opponent is losing. It’s still very quiet and I am concentrating on the game with my heart feeling as if it’s about to jump out of my chest. I am rooting for him.

“Yes, you go, boy, well done, Woop Woop” Cringe moment I actually said those words out loud and jump up fist-pumping the air.

Oops, my face goes red but luckily you can’t see it in the dark. I look at my love across the hall and he is trying hard not to smile. Now everyone is staring at me.

They’re thinking I don’t know how to behave but I got caught up in the moment.

“Quickly ground open up and swallow me now!”

Maybe I should sneak out and wait in the car? On second thought, no, I will sit but this silence is killing me.

I feel someone touching my arm and turn around slowly (thought it might be a bouncer) about to tell me to leave. Instead, I see one of the men my love introduced me to earlier that evening. He is smiling and rubs my arm in a comforting manner.

“Don’t worry about these stuffy people” (he is British) and sounds so pompous. But he is friendly so I’m not complaining.

We chat while my love is playing, (softly of course) and 10 minutes into our chat, I realize he is still rubbing my arm. I shift slightly and so does he but he does it so slightly I can barely notice.

“Ok, a bit too friendly Mister!”

I hurriedly say goodbye and decide to wait in the car because my love is nearly done.

“I’ve invited Richard to dinner next week!” My love says as he gets into the car. “He seems to like you!” He continues.

At this bit of information, my head turns sharply towards him, I nearly have whiplash.

“Of course he likes me, he made it obvious” I mumble.

“Not again” he sighs “Not all men are interested in you.” He declares. “I thought we have been through this before?” He continues.

“Yes, we have and I thought you were going to believe me when incidences like John happened again?” I moan.

“I do believe you but not in this instance besides he is happily married” he argues.

“And married men don’t cheat?” I ask in exasperation.

I drop the subject. Obviously, my love hasn’t learnt anything from the previous encounter so I will watch and wait until this plays out.

“Is his wife coming with to dinner?” My fingers are crossed hoping to here that she is.

“No, Richard said she’s working late”

To be continued.

Under the magic spell:

Part IX