Chapter Fifty Nine: Criticize

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"This is going to be horrible," you moan.

"Darling, it's not going to be that bad."

"That's easy for you to say! You don't have to sit around and listen to a bunch of rich women criticize the clothes that this person is wearing, or how that person is raising her kid. It's sickening!"

"Oh come on. They seem so nice when I talk to them."

"That's because they're the perfect trophy wives when the husbands are around, but as soon as you men all break off and start talking about the economy or whatever, they turn into snakes. I can't stand it!"

"Then why do you spend time with them?" Tom takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance at you.

"Because I have to go to these things with you, and if I hang around you all night, I'll look clingy and be referred to as one of those wives."

"Those wives?" Tom asks skeptically.

"You know. The ones that have to be interested in everything their husbands are. They're always by their sides and trying to get in on the conversation, even if they have no idea what's going on."

"And what's wrong with those wives?"

"Nothing! But apparently they're 'irritating' and 'too clingy'."

"Since when do you care about what other people think about you?"

"Since I have to endure these women at every party and social event that your friends throw," you grit.

You and Tom are on your way to, yet another, get together thrown by one of his Cambridge buddies. Tonight it's a charity event. Not that you mind the event itself, you enjoy being able to help those  in need, but some of the women you meet drive you insane. Events with these types of people usually go something like this: You attend, usually listen to a couple of hours worth of gossip, and finally convince Tom that it's time to go. Luckily, the two of you have managed to get out of throwing too many parties with all of these people due to one simple fact: your house is not large enough to hold the overwhelming amount of people that attend. Not all of the parties are bad, because not all of the wives are bad. It simply has to do with the luck of the draw. Who was able to attend which gathering.

You shift irritably in your seat as you pull up to a large white house with huge glass windows granting you a full picture of what is happening inside. People are standing around talking and drinking. Most of the ones you can see are men in expensive looking suits. Tom gets out of the car and opens the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out. You smile a thank you and he responds with a kiss on the cheek.

"It'll be fine," he hums in your ear.

"I know," you sigh.

You walk through the front door and instinctively inch closer to Tom, the large amount of people mixed with your pregnant self does not make you feel entirely comfortable.


You look up to see a group of men and their wives standing on the other side of the room. Tom wraps an arm around your waist and steers you toward the group. As you move across the room your eyes scan for someone that you might actually want to talk to. Unfortunately, the only faces you see are the ones with red lips pressed into tight smiles. Tonight's luck of the draw does not seem to be good. You sigh but put on a smile.

"Hey guys!" Tom says, letting go of your waist and hugging his friends.

"Billie! How are you doing?" one of the women, Melinda, asks.

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