The Women's Club

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. 

 

Author's Note

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.

Reviews

[Tony Jordan]

I suppose a selfie is out of the question?
This is worthy of Joan Rivers. Brilliant Carol !
Too funny.
xD

[Carol Cashes]

I'm happy to see that even a man can see the injustice of it all! The only selfie I will post is my avatar, and if you check my photos, I have my first grade pic and my graduation pic. There's not a chance in hell I would post my inside-out warped underwire bra or my mawmaw drawers!

[Tony Jordan]

well it's mee-maw drawers or all bets are off. I'll swap for a picture of me with potatoes down my speedos.

[Tony Jordan]

remind me to share with you the time I put the potatoes down the back by mistake.

[Carol Cashes]

Sweet Jesus! Nobody should be laughing this hard at 6:00 am! It's downright unseemly. Besides, those MawMaw drawers are long gone. Disintegrated, most likely. But I still have a penchant for safety pins, staples and tape, they're practically accessories now.

[Einstein Noodle]

hilarious! i knew i might be in over my head on reading the title .. but ...this is my kind of woman ;) staples, tape, doubled up doubled over socks and drawers ... keeping it real women are the best! "I sometimes wonder if they even have snot .." cracked me up but this "I’ve worn my bra inside out because the underwire was warped and it actually looked better than before. " is priceless ...i never would have know such things occur ..great read ..love your humor ...your husband is a lucky man says i! ;))))
E.

[Carol Cashes]

Oh, I can assure you that every word is true. It was laugh about our struggles as women or cry cuz it's so damn HARD. I'm glad you could appreciate the humor and the truth of it - I am not lying about those crazy underwire bras that goes hanky a few times in the "Normal" wash load. Practical women everywhere will nod their heads in recognition.

[Einstein Noodle]

i think that's so hilarious ..i'm laughing all over again :)))) i will look at those breasts with deeper understanding now ;) er...i mean avoid looking ..errrr eyes up i mean errrrr oh hell!

[DayDreamer]

Oh my I love this - these women will ALWAYS exist, whether at high school, university, the workplace, or at a dinner party... I love the vivid descriptions; it's humorous, but kind of touches a nerve too, because we all have insecurities (except, seemingly, the women you refer to in this!)
Worth the read!

[Carol Cashes]

Yeah...that raw "nerve" seems always to be exposed when around "those" women. *laughing* Thank you so much for reading this and "getting" it. I'm happy to know it ain't jus' me....