Living a long life is something we all hope
for.
We do the best we can to make it happen.
However, it is not always easy, because . . .
The Odds May Not Be In
Our Favor
Four
women sat alone in the Golden Garden Retirement Village Clubhouse staring out
the window onto the golf course. Four minds wandering and wondering what the
future might bring. Then one leaned over and . . .
“You
want to go to the Singles Club dance in two weeks, Karen?” Debbie asked.
“I
don’t know, Debbie. There’s always so many more women than men there—a seven to
one ratio, I heard.”
“Well,
we danced with each other at the last open dance night.”
“Yeah,
that’s what I’m saying. I was married to Sam for fifty-five years. And he’s
been gone five. It’s time to move on, but not with you, Karen.” And then . . .
“Hey,
I know you girls aren’t speaking to me, but I can hear every word.”
“Okay,
Sarah, so you can hear every word. You want to be part of our conversation?”
“Sure.
Let’s make it a threesome.”
“No,
it’s a foursome,” Isobel, shouted.
“All
right, ladies. It’s a foursome,” Debbie responded. So let’s put our heads
together and figure out how to make this work so we’re not stuck dancing with
each other.”
“Maybe
the Singles Club dance isn’t the way to go,” Isobel stated.
“What
are you saying?” Debbie asked. “If not the Singles dance, then what?”
“Aren’t
there other clubs that hold dances?” Isobel queried.
“Yes,
but all their members are married,” Karen said, with certainty.
“Hell,
we’d probably end up in divorce court,” Sarah yelled.
“So,
does that mean we have to barhop?” Debbie asked.
“But
I don’t drink,” Isobel moaned. “My vote for barhopping is definitely, ‘no way!’”
“What
are you doing, Sarah?” Karen inquired.
“A
bit of research?”
“Huh,
what kind of research?” Debbie asked.
Sarah
smiled. “I’m looking through the ‘Golden Garden Retirement News.’”
“What
for? There’s never anything interesting in it,” Debbie stated emphatically.
“Until
now, I would have agreed with you,” Sarah replied.
“What’s
changed now?” Debbie queried.
“A
brand new club, with over one hundred members, is having a one-month
celebration. It’s inviting anybody who wants to come to a ballroom dance to
just show up. No charge. This is our opportunity to find the one,” Sarah
chanted. “And I’m going.”
“Me,
too!” Isobel yelled.
“I’m
on board!” Karen stated strongly.
“I
guess it’s unanimous then,” Debbie said. “What’s the date?”
“This
Saturday, 7 pm, in the Golden Garden main ballroom. Dress like you’re going to
a prom,” Sarah announced, enthusiastically. “I’ll drive my plush Subaru SUV.
Just be outside your homes by 6:30 pm, and I’ll whisk you away to paradise.”
Saturday
arrived and Sarah made the rounds, picking up her three cohorts. They chattered
about how wonderful the evening would be. Arriving at the clubhouse, Sarah
parked the car and the quartet made their way into the building’s main
ballroom.
When
they entered, all they saw were many women mingling and enjoying the hors
d’oeuvres. Where were the men? And then one appeared in the center of the room,
dressed in a tuxedo, and wearing a badge that said, “Marcus Goodman, Host.”
With
Sarah in the lead, they walked up to him. She stared him in the eyes and
blurted, “This is a ball, isn’t it?”
“Why,
yes,” Marcus replied.
“Then
where are the men?” Debbie asked.
“There
are four standing by the bar,” Marcus answered.
“Only
four? Where are the others?” Karen queried.
Marcus
looked at us with an eerie expression on his face and muttered, “Dead.”
“You
can’t be serious. How did they die?” we asked in unison.
“You
women killed them.”
Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All
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