I Was the Other Woman. Kind of.

Without sounding too Hester Prynne, I was the other woman. Kind of.

My friend Kenn (whose name has been changed to protect the innocent) has been playing his bagpipes (name of instrument changed to protect a beautiful instrument) and singing at several local live music venues. Because I am an awesome friend, I have been promising to come see him for about a year.  And had yet to go.  So when I had a free evening and I knew he was playing, I ambled my way over to this restaurant and proceeded to order some black bean flautas. Yum!

At the break between sets, he walked over to a table with two women and talked to them and then made his way over to my table .  Kenn invited me to join these other ladies, who were also there in support of him.  I am always up for making new friends, so me and my flautas picked up and moved.
Yummy flautas.  
 Kenn introduced me to his girlfriend Berry and her mom. (Note: previously, I had learned that although a nice person , Berry could become territorial and not-so-nice if I was perceived as a threat to her girlfriend status.)  during the course of our conversation, her sardonic jabs and indifferent  conversation made me slowly realize one thing: I AM THE OTHER WOMAN.

Because I have never been the other woman, I was a little uncertain on how to handle it all. Should I flaunt what she thinks is true ( I am a threat to her relationship) or take the 10-foot pole approach, dropping subtle hints to indicate that I have absolutely no romantic interest in her boyfriend? Because I normally take the high road (curses, my do-gooder-ness) I took several opportunities to say that we only knew each other as a friend of my then-boyfriend, how we did not have any communication between 1991 and 2011, and that I had recently broken off a relationship and was thus a current member of the she-woman manhaters club.

This seemed to retract her claws and I felt safe-ish. Fortunately, my young son texted me and needed some motherly assistance in the form of cash, so I had an excuse to draw short this otherwise "fun" evening. I made my way out and "phew"-ed under my breath.  

I am certain that Berry is super sweet and to be perfectly honest, she is extremely accomplished in several professional areas.  I have no idea why she would be threatened by a 40's ish mom in her fifth career and writing a blog read by roughly 20 people.  But I guess it's because I had the potential to become.... the other woman. (If, by some weird freak occurrence of nature that "Berry" happens to read this, I'm also not Kenn's type.  He seems to prefer leggy blondes.)


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