When I go out with Kelli and Christy I have a hilarious time. But looks-wise, I feel like Country Mouse.
Truly. On Saturday I wore a Susana Monaco dress I love. It's stretchy and clingy and really flattering, as her stuff is. I always feel great in that dress. And I had on these funky red platform shoes Maude gave me. They're British and hip and fun.
And yet, I felt dowdy. Because these women are just so tall and girly and impossibly glam.
Whenever I look at Christy, I'm like Rain Man - all, "oh, pretty, shiny, sparkly!" I mean, she's very real, in the sense that she's totally down-to-earth and kind and wickedly funny. But she's startlingly, walk-out-of-a-magazine beautiful. I don't even think this woman has pores. She might not sweat. I didn't know normal people ever looked like that. I thought it was all Photoshop.
On Saturday night Christy made a bunch of fancy and delicious appetizers and we sipped wine and chatted and waited for her friend Dr. Jason to come join us. We'd eaten too much to want to go out for dinner, so after she got ready we went straight to the bar, early for our reservation.
We went to a new, super hip lounge called Lumen. It's all low couches, low tables, modern swank. Lots of pretty people. Christy and Dr. Jason know everyone - I mean, everyone - and we had a long couch and table in the front, facing the crowd that gathered later in front of the bar. It was like watching TV.
Christy and Dr. Jason were on one couch, and Kelli and I were on the other. We had one long, low table in front of us. On which sat a bottle of Cristal. Until we finished that, at which point we moved on to vodka.
The two of them were immersed in conversation, plus occasionally being visited by their friends the club owners and people who worked there. And Kelli and I were catching up, and talking about very deep and important things like the size of our toes and what constitutes a good pedicure, while intermittently entertaining men who stopped by to chat.
This story is getting long, so I'll save the teeth-gritting smile part of the evening for a story in itself. But what I'd like to mention is this. You never have any idea what's going to come out of Kelli's mouth. More than half of the time you know she says things to keep herself entertained.
For example, one of the myriad tall, cute, corn-fed men who came over to chat asked Kelli if she likes to watch football.
"You know," she said, "the only way I'm willing to watch football is if I know I'm going to get nailed really hard at half-time."
You have never seen a man whip out his phone and ask for a number so fast in your life.
Only to be told that while he's very cute, she's just started dating someone and wants to see where it goes. But thanks.
Dr. Jason, however, bore the brunt of Kelli's self-amusement. Before he arrived, Christy said that he's gay and he doesn't like to talk about girly stuff. No mentioning girl bits. None of it.
You mean, like, we shouldn't talk about our vaginas? Exactly. No vagina talk. He doesn't like it.
This is like issuing a challenge to Kelli. Because were we talking about them before he arrived? Not at all. Would we have otherwise? Not so much. But you could see her lovely brown eyes narrow ever so slightly and begin to sparkle in a mildly evil way.
And so, throughout the evening, Kelli worked the word vagina into casual conversation. I can't even remember how, but it was never awkward, like, "Oh this place is great and wow am I happy I have a vagina!" It was always subtle and somehow fit the conversation. Except that, of course, most evenings do not include 17 vagina mentions.
Finally, getting on past 2 am, past wine, champagne, and vodka, Kelli was dancing provocatively with Dr. Jason.
He beamed and said, "I think I've found happiness."
And she said, "Oh, honey, it's called a vagina. You'll never meet one that won't smile back at you."
If he was twitching, he covered it really well.