A hand flies to my pearls. “How dare you?” I am incensed. “Did it occur to you some stories are too hot to handle?” It’s in response to a Doll wondering over an absence of Sisterella stories and suggesting a possible rift in the friendship. You need a story–we’ve got one.
Sisterella and myself join friends for dinner–a place with knives flying and shrimp landing magically on plates. The table is coupled off. We perch at one end–good for us. There are comments to make and snark to share. The table is a mix of “know yous” and “have never mets.” One couple proves hard to figure. Regardless of my charms, wife refuses to chat. I’m generally baffled when that happens. I slide another edamame through my teeth and wonder if I’m losing my powers of engagement.
Husband is friendly and talkative. Then…part way through dinner…he makes a giant winky face at Sisterella. Under the table, I hit her leg repeatedly, turn to her, mouthing, “Whaaaaa?” She, hitting my leg, mouths, “What the hell?” When you’re besties for long time, it takes only a mouth agape to convey meaning. The wink is not a singular event. Each time it happens–leg hitting under the table.
Meal ends. Talk moves to a fave wine bar. One couple bows out. It’s swingers night and they stay away. Catch that? Just casual, “Yeah, it’s swingers night.”
Sisterella and I, always up for a challenge in judgement, squee, “Let’s go check it out!” It’s all fun and games until a girl goes to Swingers Night, right?
Odd Couple joins us. They’re friends of friends–what could go wrong? Wine bar is packed. Who knew The Dale is chock full of those who share their wares? Odd Couple Guy offers us wine and seems overly interested in Sisterella finishing her glass. She says it tastes funny. Eyebrow up. Sisterella asks bartender for a new glass. Good girl. I plant my back to a wall. Crowd observation. A woman chats up two guys. She grabs the package of the guy in front of her. Blink. Puzzled Face. She then grasps the back end of the guy to her side. Is she weighing options? The wall and I become closer friends.
Odd Couple Wife, suddenly friendly, waves us over. She sits surrounded by chicks: Young, lips and eyelids painted black. Blacker and thicker than my eyelashes. They ask how we feel about living life sans men. Odd Couple Wife recovers powers of speech with her peeps. Perhaps it was the smoking onion that rendered her mute earlier.
Fascinating as this slice of life may be, we decide it’s time to peace out. We run to the car. Doors shut. Squee aloud. No words. Oh, except, WTF.
Wonder whether Sisterella adventures continue at your own peril. Imagine what we keep quiet. Pfft.