Nightmare on Perfect Street

My totally together friends made my own marriage look downright appealing.

Betty Smartt Carter

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Illustration by Kevin Pope

When our friends Bob and Judy invited us to their tenth anniversary celebration, my husband and I discussed what to get them.

"A nice clock?" he suggested.

"They'd forget to set it."

"A cookbook?"

"Not unless it's Better Homes and Hot Dogs. You know how they eat. What about something for the yard?"

He laughed. "These are the people who don't cut their grass until it's blocking the view from their picture window."

For lack of a better idea, we opted to buy Bob and Judy a magazine subscription. I can't remember exactly why we settled on American Couple, but it sounded like a safe bet: one of those upbeat family magazines loaded with advice on everything from toning your thighs to building a gazebo.

But when I bought a sample issue to present at their party, the cover worried me a little. Lying on deck chairs in some island paradise, a tanned, blond, gorgeous couple displayed twin sets of dazzling teeth. "They Used to Be Average!" read the copy. "How You, Too, Can Look Perfect and Feel Great."

"Yeah, right," I thought, imagining paunchy Bob getting sunburned in the tropics. Since it was too late to come up with a better gift, I stapled a bow to the man's nose and went to bed.

We enjoyed the anniversary bash, then weeks passed and I realized we hadn't heard from Bob and Judy. So I called Judy to invite them out for dinner.

"That sounds great!" she said in a strangely energetic voice. "Nurturing friendships is part of a healthy emotional lifestyle!"

"Good," I said, a little uncertainly. "How about that new Mexican place?"

"Who needs a restaurant? I can give the four of us a gourmet meal right here at home with just half the fat and for a third the cost!"

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. "Judy, is that you?"

"Our place. Tomorrow night. Six. See you. I'm late for my ab and glute workout."

As I hung up, I felt a bit dazed. The only thing I'd ever known Judy to work out was a way to get her size 14 abs and glutes into a size 12 pair of blue jeans.

The next evening we headed over to Bob and Judy's.

"Wow," my husband said as we pulled up in the driveway. "Look at this yard. There's not a blade of grass out of place."

"And they've painted the house!" I said. "And added a sunroom! How did they find time to do all this?"

We stared at each other, mystified. While my husband headed to the back yard to find Bob, I knocked on the front door, then went inside. The house was ominously neat. Gone were the newspapers heaped on the couch. Gone were the dead plants and the laundry baskets full of dirty clothes.

Bizarre. My heart pounded as I opened the swinging door to the kitchen. But there sat my old pal Judy at the table, sorting piles of uncooked spaghetti noodles.

"Hi!" she said cheerily.

"Oh, thank goodness it's you!" I said, and dropped into a chair. "I was starting to think you guys had been kidnapped by some really tidy aliens. Can I help with dinner?"

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Originally published in: Marriage Partnership, 2000, Summer

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