The Women's Club

The Women's Club

A Story by Carol Cashes
"

I can't be the only one...

"

***DISCLAIMER:  I DO NOT AND HAVE NOT EVER ADVOCATED PYSICAL VIOLENCE.  THE PIECE IS SATIRE, SARCASIC AND SELF-DEPRECATING.  JUST HAD A “DAY” ONE TIME AND POUNDED THIS OUT.***

 

The Real Women’s Club

 

Before you put your soft, emolient-enriched hand up to politely stifle that yawn, let me make myself clear:  I am not talking about a group of expensive and delicately scented perfumed, expensive salon cut, standing nail-appointment, expensively (even tailored!) clothed, name-brand nyloned women with a common interest.  I’m talking about a club"a big stick"a baseball bat-shaped object used to clobber certain perfumed, manicured name-brand nyloned women.

 

You know the ones I mean.  While you’re trying to match up underwear by light or dark color, they have lingerie sets.  When you have to try to remember if you washed your hands at the last bathroom break, they manage to maintain fresh Merle Norman make-up all day.  When the hair style you spent forty five minutes on is gone by 9:30 am, even when protected by the Aqua Net Helmet,  their hair will immediately fall into salon perfection when they step in from the howling blizzard outside.  These women will openly mock you by moaning about the seven ounces they gained over the holidays, describe their horror upon discovery of a pore the size of germ - right on their cheek, for God’s sake!- and they will enchant you for hours relating their hilarious escapades while trying to find just the right outfit for the Hobo’s Ball.  They always spot the safety pin holding your clothes together and offer to let you borrow their little travel sewing kit they keep in their Louis Vuitton tote.  They write checks using fountain pens with teal blue or purple ink in distinct cursive scripts and calligraphy.  The soles of their shoes are clean.  They were born with perfect pitch, even when they laugh and tears make their eyes luminous, never racoonish -which I would trade any day for the black tracks that run down my face making even hard-core Goths cringe.   I sometimes wonder if they even have snot when they cry - all I’ve ever observed are delicate sniffs and never any kind of liquid seeping from their straight, small, perfectly symmetrical noses.

 

My theory is maybe it’s an aberrant mutant gene or something of that nature.   I mean, my friends all admit to having at least one pair of cotton “mawmaw” panties with the elastic half separated in the back we claim to keep for those “heavy” days, and yes, with full knowledge that the fastest way to be in an automobile accident where you are rendered unconscious and unable to hide, I mean defend, yourself is to have a safety pin holding some part of your clothing together and mawmaw drawers on.  It’s the universal signal for every drunk driver or legally blind adolescent driving on a permit within a five mile radius to zero in on you.   And I have no problem tellin’ it that I have used a colored marker to hide the chips my nails are sporting from the polish I hastily applied before bed.  I’ve used a binder clip to hold unruly and obstinate hair.  I’ve taped and stapled rips that were invisible to the naked eye when dressing, but have neon arrows pointin’ straight at ‘em when I arrive at my workplace.  I’ve clutched files and papers previously headed for the garbage like CIA secrets to avoid shaking hands with my calloused and chipped nail polished hands.  I knew a woman that still used iodine and baby oil (it was a ‘70’s thing) to tan her legs if hose was not dress code. I’ve laughed so hard that I had to walk around to avoid sitting for a few minutes or risk leaving a wet spot. I’ve worn my bra inside out because the underwire was warped and it actually looked better than before.  That’s right, you can forget that part of your “empowerment” seminar where you realized life was about takin’ risks -some of us could tell ya a few things. 

 

I swear these women could cross the Rockies barefoot, and arrive on the other side with soles as soft as a baby’s butt.  They were born with the exact number of hairs on their eyebrows to form perfect arches over their lilac and emerald green eyes.  They always remove their rings before applying hand lotion, which they are able to do a minimum of ten times daily.  I, on the other hand, and in the real world,  have to scrounge in the back of the bathroom closet for some lotion to put on my fingers so as not to snag my bargain brand panty hose.  They have never applied fingernail polish anywhere but on their nails.   My peers and I have too many days that we pray we don’t have to remove our shoes and expose the network of run repairs hastily applied and peeled from our feet at the end of the day.  I should  add that clear polish is not necessarily the only color you will find on these ingeniously shellacked and reinforced sandal-footed toes.  But those are high times:  we’ve all pulled up to sixteen inches of hose under our foot to eliminate that annoying busted-out toe feeling.  Of course, you can always twist the runned section to a hidden area, but with the new control top lycra-spandex panties (with cotton crotch) you may end up feeling like you’re walking sideways all day.  It’s a matter of preference...

 

 

These days, twenty-something singles go clubbing and support groups for women are flourishing on the interconnected webs.  Well, my friends and I have decided we’re up for it -we’re all still young enough to swing, but all far enough into menopausal madness to have a viable defense, especially if it’s a true jury of our peers:  cracked cuticles, cowlicks, lipstick-ed teeth, smeared mascara, a safety pin (or staples) somewhere on their clothing, fingernail polish on at least one busted-out toe of pantyhose worn so many times they could pass for chenille, and of course, the pre-requisite pair of stretched-elastic mawmaw drawers.  Don’t judge us because we know it’s about survival of the fittest…or the fattest…no, no, let’s stick with “the fittest” - we’ve earned it. 

 


© 2017 Carol Cashes



Author's Note

Carol Cashes
This was written when I worked in a professional setting that required hose at all times, no open-toed shoes and no sleeveless garments. I. Hated. It.

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Reviews

ha I read this before its great
I just wrote a poem called catalogue girl

Posted 1 Week Ago


Man, I wonder how some women do it. To remain perfect to the public eye at all times must be nerve-wracking, even if they don't show it. It's much easier to do all that you said, especially if it's been earned!

Posted 1 Week Ago


Had no idea how difficult the fashion life of average women is. But then, you're not, at all, average, are you, Carol?
Well, maybe about as "average" as the great Erma Bombeck was.
You've certainly succeeded in charming most of your readers right out of their mawmaws!

Posted 1 Month Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

Wow, Erma Bombeck was the funniest author ever! I'm flattered you think I could even come close to .. read more
I love you, we would be best friends if we ever ran across each other, damn girl I am impressed and inspired!!! Keep writing and sharing I'm so glad I found this site :)

Posted 1 Month Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

If you're snarky and can speak "eyebrow" language, then we definitely would be best friends. *laugh.. read more
I do well remember the great use of fingernail polish on hose. God! That was ages ago. I haven't worn pantyhose in ages.

And yes, I hate those perfect women. And, it is the survival of the fattest.

This was fun.

Posted 1 Month Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

Fingernail polish is a multi-purpose tool. I don't wear panty hose either anymore, but oh, Lordy! .. read more
You should feel sorry for those poor girls. They sleep in glass cages at night. Never have sex. Talk with high pitched voices, due to tight panties fatigue.
Tell me how your swinging goes. I feel another story coming on. lol

Posted 1 Month Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

You always make me laugh! Tight panties fatigue? I'm sure they work hard making it appear effortle.. read more
Simply, briefly.. THIS IS SUPER FANTASTIC, HILARIOUS WRITING, THOUGHT and TRUTH start to finish!!!

Posted 1 Month Ago


emmajoy

1 Month Ago

Adding a crat e of candles to my shopping list, CArol..!!! :))

( Are you fi n.. read more
Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

Sorry I'm late responding. Yaasssss! The site was jumping and unfocused. Thought it might have be.. read more
emmajoy

1 Month Ago

No, was the site.. others experienced the same or similar problems. Always a pleasure to read your w.. read more
I think those mawmaw drawers might the same thing as granny drawers? A thing to be scorned these days, I can tell you for sure that li'l Sammy dug the heck out of them when he hid behind the barn and scanned those Sears catalogs. This one's full of laughs, Carol.


Posted 1 Month Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

Yes! Granny drawers are the same. That's too, too funny about the Sears catalog. Norman Rockwell .. read more
OMG... you made me spit my coffee all over my keyboard.. I learned to tie great knots both for broken straps and escaping toes.. and it never mattered if I tore a piece of my petticoat for an emergency tourniquet or not... it was already hanging anyway..

Posted 2 Months Ago


Carol Cashes

1 Month Ago

Too, too funny! Knots?! Lordy, I'd have walked with a limp if I had tied a knot to contain escapin.. read more

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Added on August 8, 2017
Last Updated on August 8, 2017
Tags: fiction, humor

Author

Carol Cashes
Carol Cashes

Biloxi, MS



About
I'm very cynical, jaded, just this side of bitter and the only reason I haven't crossed that line is a good man loves me. I am extremely empathetic, but seldom sympathetic. I can be a ferociously lo.. more..

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