Laura Ingalls Wilder at a Sex Toy Party: Make a Friend Part I

A large part of feeling Magnifique, besides dressing your best, is getting out there and having a little bit of a social life.  My close college friends with kids all live out of state, overseas or down the highway (and face it, with two toddlers, down the highway feels like traveling overseas). My mom is probably tired of me stalking her.  Monsieur Magnifique can’t grasp the “girl rules of conversation” where he is supposed to oooh and ahhh in just the right places, throw in an occasional sympathetic wide-eyed head nod and be able to nimbly jump from topic to topic, like a hummingbird on cocaine.       
    Both of my sister- in-laws are fantastic, fun ladies.  But, between crazy schedules, trying to fit in a family dinner and giving in to the guilt that makes me want to be home for bedtime, getting away to see them proves nearly impossible.  
That’s why I jumped at the chance to be a guest at a cousin’s ex-roommate’s book club.  My cousin couldn’t attend so I planned on meeting the ladies alone.  It was a move I usually didn’t make but I was ripe for a new group with fresh stories.  The club met after my kids’ bedtime, reading was involved –which I love, and I was oddly impressed with the fact that the conversation promised to be about a book, not kids.  I enjoy visiting with other moms but the talk is often like reading an excerpt from “What to Expect the Toddler Years” –comparing nap schedules, growth charts, and the funny things kids say.

I was so overzealous that I bought a new outfit and did my hair.  I even read the book (a rookie mistake), highlighting entire passages and practicing witty remarks to my reflection in the mirror.  Hors d'oeuvres, wine, books and new friends –I had a feeling that this was my foot into the close sisterly social circle I craved.

    Fast forward two hours into book club.  There almost aren’t words for how completely out of place I was.  I can only describe it like this:  I was like Laura Ingalls Wilder at a Sex Toy Party.  You know the type of party…the kind where an in-home consultant and fifty of your friends and neighbors come to help you pick out new equipment to suit your masturbatory needs?  Like a Tupperware party, only dirty.

    Picture it –Pa allowing me to take the horse off the Walnut Grove homestead, all innocent in my dusty ruffle dress and braids, clutching my Bible with passages highlighted for discussion.  I tether my horse outside and open the door to a room brimming with horny middle-aged women.  They’re passing around the latest in battery operated adult toys, comparing the size of ass beads and licking flavored lubricant off each other’s arms.  There I was, little Laura, holding veiny plastic novelties in my clean hands and smiling, polite, too naïve to understand what this tool was for and why everyone was laughing.

    Offended?  Repulsed at the thought of Half-Pint trying on a ball gag?  Good.  Now you know exactly how uncomfortable I was.  Of course, I’m not being literal, but the feeling translates.

    No one read the book (copies of it were used as coasters for the vodka shots) and you were from another planet if you tried to talk about the book.  My cute librarian sweater set was inappropriately stuffy compared to the two topless ladies –one smoking pot and showing her new boobs and one showing her new nipple ring.  I was the youngest woman there with the most kids.  These ladies were confusing feminine packages filled with important careers, disposable incomes, personal shoppers, trendy famous friends but deranged romantic relationships.  By the time I left I knew the best place to have sex with the boss in three corporate offices, the name of a good “couples” hooker in Vegas, directions to a swingers club downtown (sorry Monsieur –we’re not looking into that!) and the secret word to make a local karate instructor sleep with you.

    Now you think I’m prude.  Really, the opposite is true.  I usually find some good girl gossip breaks down the walls and allows for a more intimate friendship.  But it turns out, for me, there is a fine line.  How much is too much?  I’m still not exactly sure, but this over the top approach did just the opposite of creating intimate friendships.  It was pure shock factor used to impress, intimidate and build up a competitive wall.  It was a cold, lonely type of gossip, void of humor, warmth or camaraderie.

    The book club was a success at one thing…making me feel like the oldest woman on earth, an old fashioned Little House on the Prairie character in a Sex and the City sort of world.  

Luckily Laura made it out of the cougar’s liar alive.  She came home at a gallop, went to the outhouse, put on her nightcap, thought about joining a mommy’s group to meet new friend and then dreamed about the funny vibrating tools the ladies were passing around.


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