Ugh. You guys. I’ve got a secret I’ve been hiding and I hope y’all can forgive me.
I joined a book club a friend from work started a few months ago.
I kept it all on the hush-hush ‘cause I cannot stand the Oprah Book Club and I am aware that joining a friend’s innocent little get together pretty much makes me guilty by association.
So, you know, I’ve had prouder moments.
For the record, it was supposed to be different. It wasn’t supposed to be the typical gathering of suburban housewives tired of Raging Against Ring Around the Collar and trying to stir things up a bit by reading John Iriving all the while killing off the requisite box of Pink Zin.
No. No. Sure, we all were reading the same book. We were all required to bring some sort of food-type-thing. But there was going to be exchanging of radical ideas! Smoking lots of cigarettes! Drinking plenty o’ swanky booze!
This was supposed to be, you know, different.
I have no idea why I was convinced of this. My work-friend’s recruitment skills must be second to none to have seduced me into such matters.
Let’s just say, the first meeting of the minds went fairly well. The book chosen for the first meeting was Tom Robbins’ Skinny Legs and All. And although I am not a real fan of Robbins’ (that’s another rant for another day) I was thrilled no one had picked a glittered covered best seller, or say … an Oprah Book.
So it seemed like it was going to work out.
So, we ate, we drank, we talked about the book and … and … within 15 minutes everyone (with the exception of me and another girl – the one who picked the book) agreed it was way weird .
I guess not many of these women could get over the spoon having a conversation with the dildo in the underwear drawer.
Which, I would venture a guess is where it all took on another direction. Apparently, the talk of dildo’s led the door wide open for other topics of discussion and the hostesses’ roommate ran right through that door with the announcement she was having an “Intimate Collection” party in the near future.
If you aren’t familiar with an intimate collections party – it’s like aTupperware Party for The Millennial Woman. But instead of witnessing the sealed-in freshness that comes with the miracle of Tupperware, ladies witness the sassy ‘n fresh liberation that comes with demonstration of various body oils and miracle marital aids.
And if I have to point it out for you – and I hate to go around chucking the stereotypes but -- warming body oils and tacky teddies will kick literature’s ass any day when it comes to The Interest of Today’s Women.
So, needless to say after 15-20 minutes … actual book discussion came to a screeching halt and everyone was clamoring to see the goods.
And those who smoke were banished to the balcony as not to disrupt the genteel odor of the lit and carefully placed fall votives.
So, you know, so much for hip, edgy and arty.
p.s. You can thank this fellow for saving you all from yet another rant of mine - as he perfectly states my similar feelings about the latest cinematic poo-poo. So please read, yo.