First of all, for women in our 50s we very often act like reform school grads. I like to say it’s part of our charm.
My friends and I, Joanne and Camille, play a little game that’s actually very funny. We sidle up to strangers and say nutty things. It’s a quirky contest to see who can be the most inappropriate…and I’ll give you a little hint to who wins every time. She’s a creature we all know and are slightly afraid of. Yes, Camille never fails to hit the grand slam of bloopers.
I’m the most timid. My idea of outrageous is to say to someone eating on the street, preferably a chubby girl, “You know you’re not supposed to be eating that. How are you ever gonna lose those ten pounds?” The deal is, the other two watch for the person’s reaction while you scurry away. I’ve had different ones. Once I made a girl cry, another time I got a flat, fuck you as she stuffed a Twinkie in her mouth without missing a beat.
I also pretend I’m foreign and lost asking some poor guy for directions. I say things like, “Oui..pok aven-ooh? Ah…oui oui, said the pig-gee’ ol da vay ome.” The man always looks as if he didn’t quite hear right, but I’m already halfway down the block in utter Connecticut mortification. It’s freeing, I’ll say that since I can hear my mother in her grave screaming, ” dig me up..now, so I can kill her.”
Joanne’s famous for when she accused a woman of having a talking dog. “Did you hear what he just said to me…we don’t even know each other,” Joanne said how, with a straight face, I’ll never know. It was hilarious, especially when the woman said. “I know, he’s just so fresh and won’t shut-up, my friends just don’t believe me.”
But Camille takes the trophy home each time we play, and yes, we drink beforehand.
There was a group of frumpy men standing outside of the Yale Club. You know the type…they have that, too much steak and scotch look…overfed fellows with bellies that hang over their Brooks Brothers belts like custom-made zeppelins. If you put a pin in one, he’d shoot to Jersey.
Camille pops over to the fattest and says, “There you are you big burnin hunka love. I’ve been lookin all over for ya. Wow, did you get me hot the other night. I mean, I’m still sizzlin. How bout us doing it again..right here?”
Before anyone can speak, she dashes down the block like a naughty apparition. Joanne and I, standing by, watch as the fat guy regains himself. One crony said, “John, I didn’t know you had it in you.” “In her you mean,” another one snapped. “No, they weren’t exactly Catskill comics but Camille won and Joanne and I had to buy her lunch, and worth every penny to see that poor man’s face take on a look of shock then pride because the best part was, he didn’t deny it.
He stood on the street preening like a portly porn star.
Men…you just gotta love-em.
And as far as Camille goes…she should just will herself to science and get it over with.