When thirty-three year-old Matt Foxx entered the family room, his thirty-two year-old wife Holly was binge-watching re-runs of Glee. Plopping down on the couch next to her, he viewed the show in silence for a few moments before commenting, "Oh, yeah. I remember this episode. The girls are asking the guys to a dance."

Nodding her blonde head without looking away from the fifty-five inch flat-screen T.V. mounted on the wall, she replied. "We used to have those back in college, remember?"

A smile that was equal parts lecherousness and nostalgia crossed his face. "I remember," he patted his wife's knee, "I remember."

She snuggled closer to her husband, curling her long legs up under her. "Good thing the school threw those things, otherwise we would never have gotten together."

"I would have eventually asked you out," he protested.

"Oh, yeah, right. Mister Accounting Major. If I would have waited for you to call, I would still be sitting by the phone in my dorm room." Holly laughed. "You were soooo shy." She laughed again. "You still are."

"I am not," he objected.

She pressed her lips together as she focussed on the T.V. screen. "We should have a Sadie Hawkins Dance."

"I don't know how to break this to you," he lifted her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the rings on her finger, "But you already have a man. And besides," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "Since college, I have developed waaay more confidence."

Around mid-morning the next day, Matt received a text from his good friend, Dylan Lancaster. It said, 'Have you checked your private e-mail?'

Matt used his smartphone to do that. He was pretty sure that the IT department of the firm monitored everyone's use of the company P.C.s. Besides the usual stuff that he normally did not even open, there was an e-Mail from his wife to himself and three other couples. Upon opening it, he saw that it had a picture inserted in the body of the message.

"Mr.& Mrs. Matthew Foxx request the presence of your company at their home this Friday evening at seven P.M. for a pool party.
Food and beverage will be provided.

Women should wear swim-suits.
Men will swim naked."

He read that last line three times before switching screens back to the text-message and hitting the call icon.

Dylan: I take it that you read it.
Matt: I read it. Has she lost her mind?
Dylan: I don't know, she's your wife.
Matt: Have you spoken to your wife about it?
Dylan: Oh, yeah . . . She called me.
Matt: What did she say?
Dylan: We're going.
Matt: WHAT!
Dylan: I said . . .
Matt: Hold on, Dylan, I'm getting a text.

After a few seconds to read the text, Matt was back on the phone.

Matt: It was from Grant. I guess his wife called him, too.
Dylan: So what are we going to do?
Matt: Are you free for lunch?
Dylan: Let me see . . . Yeah. Why?
Matt: Call Brad. I'll call Grant. Let's meet up at Gallahan's at noon.
Dylan: Oh . . . This sounds serious. Should we synchronize our watches and use a password?
Matt: Swordfish.

And he ended the call.

About ten minutes past noon, Grant walked into the somewhat crowded watering hole, the last to arrive. He ordered a diet soda rather than an alcoholic beverage. Matt, too, was drinking a cola; he had a ton of numbers to crunch before leaving the office that afternoon and had to keep a clear head. The other two men were having breakfasts of champions. Dry martinis.

"So, what's going on?" Grant, the youngest member of the group, looked from one face to the other.

"You read the e-Mail," the forty-something Dylan replied. "Matt's old lady is playing a game of 'chicken' with him and we've got rounded up as three more cluckers."

Grant stared at Matt, hoping for further elaboration. Taking a deep breath, the C.P.A. said, "We were watching an old episode of Glee last night. It was the one where they had a Sadie Hawkins dance. Holly got to talking about how the first time we went out on a date, it was because she had asked me to our college's Sadie Hawkins dance."

"Oh, yeah," Brad commented. "I remember that episode. I thought the name sounded familiar."

"Our school had 'em, too," Dylan said. "But I thought they were held in November. Not the summer time."

Matt shrugged, "Well this one is being held in the summer." He took a sip of his soda. "Holly is trying to prove that I am still the same shy, bashful kid I was back at the University."

Dylan snorted, "Weren't we all?" Nerdism knows no age limits. "And you are saying that you want us to show up?"

"Damn straight," Matt nodded. "As soon as you guys strip down, she will be changing her tune faster than a deuce cutting loose, another runner in the night." He looked at his three friends, adding, "All of the wives will."

"I don't know," Grant replied skeptically. "Irene can get into some pretty wild stuff."

Now it was he who was the focus of the conversation, as all eyes rested on him, waiting to hear more.

"Well, you know how it is," he stammered.

Matt glanced at his watch and belted back the last of his soft drink. "I gotta get back to the office. Don't forget. Seven o'clock. I expect to see all of you there at my house."