My Husband AND My Wife; Part I

    Last month we got together with one of Cade's friends from high school.  It was great meeting him and his wife.  When they walked into the restaurant, I was shocked because I went to school with his wife, Barbara!  "What are the odds?" I asked and she hugged me.
    "It's so great to see you," she said.
    "Oh, you know . . . my wife?" Cade's friend said.  I thought we'd entered into a fun double date.  His first line though, that should have been a sign that things were headed in the wrong direction.
    Here's the thing, I have a pet peeve (maybe I have many), but one I CAN NOT stand is when a person constantly refers to their spouse as MY wife or MY husband.  Are they a flippin' object?  Seriously.  Do they have a name? 
    So, we ordered food and chatted.  It didn't hit me until later that CADE'S friend, kept referring to his wife as a possession.

    "You're so very lucky to have Barbara," I said.  And he truly is because she's packing the sweetest personality and a set of double D's--in fact, the whole time we ate, I wanted to run to the bathroom and stuff toilet paper into my bra.  I'd feel better, and I doubted anyone would noticed that I'd practically "grown in a flash."  But if I stuffed, I knew Cade would give me "the eye."  That man lives to give me "the eye."
   Anyway, I didn't stuff, or dump miracle grow into my bra--again.  Instead I listened to "Tony's" reply.  "You're right.  I am so lucky to have such a great wife."
    Very interesting.  Was he allergic to her name? It suddenly became my goal to find out if I could get him to say "BARBARA" or even "Barb."  I thought about grabbing Cade and dragging him to the back of the restaurant; we could make bets there--that's always where they make bets in movies.  We could even get the cooks and waiters in on it.  If Tony didn't say "Barbara," I'd be rolling in dough.
    I grabbed Cade's hand.  And then looked at the door.  "Cade can I talk to you?" I whispered, my lips not moving although one side had stayed open.
    Cade got up with me.  "Why are we going to the back of the restaurant?"
    "To make a bet.  I bet you ten bucks, that Tony guy won't ever say Barbara.  He's a possessive creep."
    "What?!  He's my friend."
    "Fine, maybe he's a great friend.  But he's far from a . . . name-dropper."
    Cade gave me the eye; he could earn money giving people the eye.
    "Seriously, haven't you heard him?  He says, 'my wife' and 'my bride.'  Would it kill him to use her name!"
    "Elisa, this is ricockulous."
    I kissed him full on the lips then, this knee bending, leg popping kiss.
    "Woah, what was that for?" he asked.
    "It's because you used my name."
    "Nice," he suddenly had such a hard time not smirking.  He put his hand up to his face and stroked the furry bit growing from his chin.  "Fine," he nodded, "ten bucks, says I can get him to say 'Barbara.'"
    "And ten bucks says he won't."
    "You do realize that my money is your money and your money is well . . . you get it."
    "Yeah, but if I win ten bucks, I'm putting it toward editing fees."
    "All right, you're on."
    So, we went back to the table and smiled as if we weren't pool sharks facing amateurs.
    "This is great," Cade said, tapping the table.  Then he pulled out the big guns and turned to Tony.  "Times does fly.  How long have you been married to . . . ummm."  He motioned to Barbara.  Oh! He was good.
    "My wife?" Tony asked and I nearly spewed my water EVERYWHERE.  "Six months."
    "Newly weds."  Barbara smiled.  "Tony's a wonderful man."
    I looked at Cade.  Did he hear that?  She had the decency--the humanity--to use Tony's name, yet he couldn't even call her "Barb" or "Barbie!"

To be continued . . . tomorrow.