She told the others I was
"OK" and acted strange because I was a good Catholic girl who went to
Notre Dame. She let me sit with her group during lunch. I tried to adjust to
the others but was still known as "FDG" until one swing shift when, Cindy
a regular at our lunch table, who I saw at the start of our shift, failed to
Shy, I usually sat quietly but this was interpreted as being stuck up, part of my FDG designation. I was determined to be friendlier. Quietly munching a sandwich, I got the courage to say something.
Penny smiled and replied.
"She went to her car for F and F."
I didn't know what F and F meant. My mind raced what F and F Cindy was doing. Find Food, maybe fast food? It didn't make sense with food in the cafeteria and the nearest fast food outlet 15 minutes away and a 30 minute lunch break. Thinking the girls knew about cars I finally said.
"She's fixing a flat?"
Penny looked at me as if I was
"Fixing a flat?"
"Yeah, you know F and F, she went to her car to fix a flat?"
The girls at the table turned to me stunned. Then began laughing, soon they were choking laughing. Mascara started to run. One was hysterical choking on her last sandwich bite. Just as they calmed themselves one would whisper hoarsely.
"She's fixing a flat!"
Off they would laugh again. Finally
Penny, struggling with words between choking said.
"Honey F and F is Fast Fuck you
While made the butt of a joke, my
"F and F" got rid of the animosity toward me. I was a not a
"FDG" just a "Fucking Twit" or "FT".
Our double income and relatively low housing cost kicked us up to an even higher income bracket. While time stressed for the first time we had leisure money. I started buying nice clothes.
The sexual 70's and swing shift girl's escapades and gossip made me restless. Domestic sex with children asleep in the other rooms wearing a sexy nightie didn't fit the 70's excitement. It took more than large bars of soap, big shampoo bottles, fluffy towels, new clothes, even belly dancing for fulfillment. Something was missing in Camelot.
Driving to and from work, the only times I had to myself, I began thinking.
This is it? What's
missing? Am I satisfied?
Well, it wasn't exactly like that.
It was fate’s repine, a feeling of emptiness. Others had it, I didn't.
Married to a good husband, healthy kids,
a nice house, poor origin left behind, why the ennui feeling? What was missing?
Didn’t I have it all? Working swing shift meant the day time soap operas I once
watched for titillation while ironing and washing were out. The girls at work
provide real life replacements. They unabashedly bragged about sexual exploits
and openly displayed hickey marks.
I related their F and F tales and “nudie party” stories to hubby which titillated me as I retold them and him as he listened. The trouble with stories is they are about others, not you.