Neighbor Louise

Neighbor Louise:   Be Careful What You Wish For

Our house, located on a cul-de-sac lot, was designed with a kitchen facing the front, allowing me to look out at the neighbors' homes down the street. Tears streamed down my face into the dishwater. From my window, I watched my neighbors leave for their usual Saturday night dinner date, Louise stunning in her red suit with a fur collar. I studied my old red sweatshirt, which had baby spit-up stains.  All four kids were sick with the flu. I’d spent the day changing sheets and mopping feverish foreheads.  Lord, when do I get a night off? I thought.  With four kids, we couldn’t afford a night out.

I picked up the spilled popcorn and toys littering the family room. Louise’s house was a showplace—off-white carpets, even.  “And a dinner date every Saturday night,” I sputtered.  “She has everything.”

Two Saturdays later, I was holding a sobbing Louise in my arms.  “I want a divorce,” she wailed.  “He’s had a mistress for three years.  He gave her a car for Christmas.  I only got a red suit.”