I HAD EXPECTED a lot of things out of my marriage but this hadn’t been one. When I walked into to my home that Thursday before Christmas, I was expecting maybe a London Broil for dinner. Maybe a bit of whipped potato on the side, a nice Merlot, a foot rub, a hot shower and maybe, if Drake was in the mood, a good stiff roll in the hay. Orgasms made the best stocking stuffers I thought.
What I found was Drake rolling in the hay with the trainer from our gym. And judging by the look of their roll, stiff had definitely been an appropriate adjective.
‘What. The. Fuck?’ It’s all I remembered saying. And then I dropped my shopping bags, the gorgeous cobalt blue wine glasses I had just bought for my mother tinkled merrily as they cracked and crazed in the designer bag.
‘Merritt! It’s not what it looks like,’ Drake stammered.
‘Not at all, Mrs Evans,’ Ted the trainer gasped. Ted trained us at the local gym and he was the coach/Phys Ed teacher at the local high school. But that was neither here nor there considering the circumstances.
Their not what it looks like was a hard sell when you’re standing there buck naked rubbing your dicks together.
Because I have a friend of a friend who’s a judge, I was divorced by New Year’s Day.

‘What you need, Merritt, my dear, is a long line of men who will treat you like the sex goddess you are. They will whip you, tie you up, bang you, spoil you and make you have so many luscious orgasms you’ll turn into a veritable pile of girl goo!’ Jeffrey said and covered my eyes with cucumber slices.
‘I hear ya,’ I sighed. The world turned cool and mildly green and I let my head hit the back of the overstuffed pink chair in his front room.
‘You need a whirlwind of a year full of men and fucking and men and good dinners and did I say men?’
I heard him settle into the twin of my chair and give his own sigh of relief. ‘You sound more excited about these men than I do,’ I said. Every time I closed my eyes I saw my husband rubbing his appendage against our trainer’s equipment. I snatched the cucumbers off my eyes and stared at the ceiling. ‘And it wouldn’t have been so bad if ... ’
Jeffrey is impatient but he gave me three whole seconds. ‘If?’
‘If he’d pulled me into it. If it had been me plus Ted. Me in addition to Ted. Ted and Merritt and Drake,’ I whispered.
Jeffrey pulled his own cucumbers off and rolled his eyes. ‘But it was just Ted. Not and or with or in addition to. And it blows,’ he said, sitting up, pouring us some orange juice with a healthy dose of champagne in it. We were having a girls’ pamper party, only I was the only official girl.
‘It blows,’ I echoed, taking the offered glass.
‘You need that year. A different guy each month. Just fun and fucking and feasting,’ Jeffrey said, his eyes glazing over as he plotted.
I had to admit to being a tiny bit mesmerized when Jeffrey slams into evil genius mode.
‘I could go for all those ‘f’s,’ I admitted.
Jeffrey started to hum. He paused, took a swig from his foamy orange drink and stood. Then more humming. ‘You need to be a calendar girl,’ he said, giving me jazz hands.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah? How so? A pin-up?’
‘No. A different guy every month. No strings. No effort. And absolutely no expectations.’ More humming.
‘How much have you had to drink?’ Despite the snarky words, a small buzz of excitement started in my belly. Like a flock of butterflies on speed.
Jeffrey started singing full throttle and I jumped. ‘January! He’ll start the year off fine. February, he can be a naked Valentine.’
I snorted and almost choked on my drink, but I started humming with him. Clapping wildly as he pranced around his living room like a prize pony. ‘Sing it!’
‘March! Make them line up in single file!’
‘Oh my God.’
‘April, Easter’s coming, wear just a smile!’
I started hooting. Clearly, we were insane.
‘May! He can never meet your dad and mom! June!’
‘Maybe a three-way with Jim and Tom,’ I blurted.
Jeffrey paused. ‘Nice, Slutty McSlutterson.’
I blushed, swigged my drink and he barrelled on, grinning. ‘July! Like a firecracker you will go, um ... August! Big O’s on the beach will make you glow.’
‘As if,’ I said, but loved the idea to be honest.
‘September, light the candles for the sexing scene. October–’
‘Be the naughty nurse on Halloween!’ I shouted
‘Oh, bend over big boy,’ Jeffrey said, jumping on an ottoman and starting a mad showgirl kick. ‘November! You’ll give thanks for one and two and three ... ’
‘December, all the rest naked under my tree!’ I jumped on the other ottoman. ‘Yeah, yeah, my heart’s in a whirl.’
‘’Cause you’re the slutty little calendar girl,’ Jeffrey sang. ‘Every day, every day of the year!’
Dead. Silence.
‘I think Paul Ankah just rolled over in his grave,’ I whispered.
‘It was Neil Sedaka, sweetheart,’ Jeffrey said and helped me down. ‘And he’s not dead.’
‘Too bad for him,’ I took the fresh drink he offered.
‘We won’t tell him. Now, cheers! Cheers to a year of the three ‘f’s. Fun, feasting and fucking. No strings. No love. Just tons of sex and good times and a clearing of your head. To you, Calendar Girl.’
‘To me!’ I toasted him and we drank on it.