Dear TABSK--It's me, Kendra, again.
I've thoughtfully considered the advice offered by you, by Maureen, by Chelsea. Thank you, all for your interest in my 'situation' with Sara.
The approach I eventually decided on was the getting-me-and-her-alone somewhere approach. Easier said than done, as all you MILFs who live on a cul de sac already know. It's hard enough getting alone time away from your own family. Compound that with your rival's family, and then nosy neighbors. That's why cul de sac affairs never happen--no opportunity for privacy with your crush. (And so, Maureen, no I do not regret my makeout session with Sara's husband. YOLO.)
After a few days of realizing it was never gonna happen organically--my schedule and Sara's just didn't sync that way--and I didn't want to get busted staking her out--I decided to just text her. Casually. Coldly, but casually. See what happens.
> Hey, Sara. It's Kendra. Got a minute?
[40 minutes go by. She must be busy.]
[Then....a reply from her.]
> On a call. Give me 10 minutes.
[Oh, good. She replied. She and I are on speaking terms. But what does she need the 10 minutes for? To wrap up her call? To go somewhere private? To give me time to go private? Or we going to text or talk on the phone?]
[12 minutes later.....(yes, I was counting)]
> Hey, bitch. Done any kissing lately, kissing bandit?
[Shit. Well, I guess we're gonna text. Now .... am I busted? Did her husband confess? Well, no way I'm taking the bait. If she wants to accuse me of something, she's gonna have to do that herself.]
> Calling someone a bitch by text doesn't take courage, Sara.
> Takes more courage than calling her a bitch behind her back, Kendra.
> Sara, find me a woman who's never called a woman a bitch behind her back, and I'll show you a liar.
> True, maybe. Why'd you text?
> If you wanted to call me a bitch, why didn't YOU text?
> Who says I wasn't going to. But, again. Why'd YOU text. The curiosity is killing me.
> I wanted to see if we might be able to chat privately.
> Chat about what?
> [Shit, she's good at this cat and mouse shit. Does she have lots of experience at it?] I figured we'd know once we're alone. See what comes up.
> I think I like that idea.
> So...... when? where? You seem busy during the day.
> I can plan time off. My husband's travelling next week and my daughter is with her aunt. Stop by than, if you can. Say, Tuesday? 9?
> That works.
> I can't wait.
The next 7 days seemed like 7 years. It was obvious Sara and I were going to fight ..... there was nothing for us to talk about. And .... for the record ..... I wasn't fighting her because I kissed her husband .... I kissed her husband to initiate a fight. Big difference.
I spent the entire week deciding what to wear for the fight. Like going to a high school football game and dressing for a potential rumble with the girls from the other school. Jeans a definite must for pants, for the rolling on the floor (in a catfight, using your legs is a must). For the top--something durable but loose--you need to be able to swing.
I'd dress in front of the mirror in my catfight clothes, getting horny as fuck. I wasn't sure why. Lost youth? Beating up my crush's partner? Having unlimited make-out access to him after I won?
Just the sheer joy of hitting someone as bitchy as Sara?
Knowing she had been wanting to fight me.
Does she KNOW this is a fight? ("Is this a date?" / "Is this a fight?")
Should I ask her?
I initiate another text.
> Looking forward to Tuesday at 9, Sara.
> I am as well, Kendra. To what do I owe the pleasure of this text? [Why does she always ask that? It's annoying.]
> If I wear jeans: I'm not underdressing, right? Not too casual?
> Nah. Just don't show with your hair up. Mine will be down.
> [A high school football game memory flashes back to me. At games you were expecting actual fights, you braid your hair as tight as possible so it wouldn't get pulled.] Doable. I'll leave mine down. But yours better be down too.
> I just said mine will be down, bitch.
> [This is definitely pre-fight talk. We're past the point of no return.] Don't cancel on me Tuesday, bitch.
> Not a chance, sweetie.
To be continued.....