This morning, though, I got an email from my gravelly-voiced tennis friend inviting me to a dildo party. It is not strictly called a dildo party, it has some name like Celestial Throbbings or similar. I'm being for serious, the name is something like that. This is a first for this neighborhood, as far as I know. Most (okay all) of my friends, whatever their private proclivities, are too genteel or reticent to host such a thing. But this is the bunco crowd and they are a little harder-partying. Like, some of them smoke cigarettes. Which is basically not done in this sphere anymore, ever.
So I was all, "Dildo party, that's funny," and then I got to the best part. It's not only a dildo party, it's a spray tan party! The invite promises:
I have a woman coming to the house and she will set up in my master bedroom and one by one we will go upstairs and get gorgeous spray tans. It's only twenty dollars and trust me she won't miss a spot.I don't want to quote the invitation at greater length, but I do want to convey to you that the whole communication, everything about it--diction, font choice and size, grammar and punctuation, everything--just exudes a past-its-prime good timey-ness that is a real breath of beery air. The hostess closes the invitation by saying, "The men would kill to be a fly on the wall at this party--LMFAO!" Then there really needed to be a belch emoticon, if one existed.
When I read this, I hollered "YEEEEEESSSSS!" My neighbors perusing sex toys and going upstairs "one by one" to be thoroughly spray tanned? No way will I miss the chance to go to this event so I can describe the scene for you. No way. I take my commitment to you guys too seriously for that, you can be sure, so relax. I'm on it.
So that's happening. And Matt and I have mixed doubles match tomorrow if it doesn't rain. Here it is after nine and my kids are still running free through the house. I'm going to go S that D. xoxo-B