“Well—”
“Yeah, none of us were,” Chad says, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like he’s ready to dive into a “gotcha” moment.
“Yeah, well, it’s one of those?—”
“You’re not even wearing a wedding ring,” Chad continues.
Then every single pair of eyes in this pressure cooker that is a conference room zeroes in on my left hand.
What’s a girl to say to that?
Nervously, I smile and casually slide my ring-less hand under the table and place it on my trembling leg.
“Um, about that…”
“Scottie,” Chad says, leveling with me as if he’s my father catching me in a lie. “We know you’re not married. If you’re trying to fit in, please don’t make up lies.”
The audacity of this guy!
Uh, news flash, Chad, you don’t know how to properly use a comma, you nitwit, so cut the investigative report on my love life.
“Is he right?” Ellison asks, her brow pulling together. “Are you really not married?”
And this, my friends, is why you don’t lie.
Because you have a simp like Chad trying to play Sherlock Holmes and blow up your spot.
That being said, I have two ways I can react to such an accusation. I can nod in shame, suck in my pride, and tell the truth, letting Chad take all the fame and glory. I can confess to them that I was so desperate to fit in that I made up a fictional man to make me look like less of an old maid.
Or I can dig in deep, save face, and run with the lie while making Chad eat his words with a side of guilt and a sprinkle of embarrassment.
The first option, dignified and shows true character.
The second option, a battle cry to all women out there that the Brads and Chads of this world cannot take us down!
I think we know where I’m going with this.
Gird your loins and hoist your bras, ladies. We’re digging in.
Looking Chad in the eyes, I say, “Thank you, Chad, for bringing my ring-less finger to everyone’s attention.” I set my shoulders back and lift my chin. “I didn’t plan on sharing this with the group, but my husband and I are actually going through a rocky time at the moment, and we’ve taken some breaks, hence the no ring.”
Ha-HA!
In your face, Chad.
Take that.
Eat it.
And gag.
Yup. Freaking gag.
The room falls silent. Only the hushed hum of computer monitors fills the office space.
I hope you’re all happy, you married-loving cult. I hope you all look in the mirror and think how horrible it is that you humiliated poor, poor Scottie to the point of having to air out her marital issues in front of floor twenty-three, all because Chad just had to make his dick look big.
Well, guess what, Chad? Your hands are small, your fingers are thin, and I think we all know that that means?—
