The Women Who Run With the Moose got together for our girls night on Thursday. Betty was hosting and she was serving nachos and these skinny watermelon margaritas. Oh, they were wicked tasty! Right from the get go, us girls were talking a mile a minute, per usual. Hard to get a word in edgewise, but I managed.
“So last Saturday, I was at the baked bean supper down to the Congo Church,” I begin, “and who do I run into but Eleanor Purdy.”
Celeste goes, “That old gal must be pushing ninety.”
“Eighty-eight next week, she told me. Heck, she pretty much announced it to everyone there. Still lives at home. Well, she was going on and on about something or other, but I couldn’t stay with it because I was distracted by these little hairs she had sprouting on her chin. Plus, she had this exceptionally long one growing out of the end of her nose. I found it hard to look at anything else and have been haunted by it ever since.”
Dottie goes, “Aging ain’t for the faint of heart.”
“Don’t you just know it,” adds Betty. “All of a sudden you realize the fat on your body is moving around, going from your butt to your stomach.”
“Your breasts to your inner thighs!”
“Yeah, but when your hair starts migrating that’s, that’s…,” I sigh, unable to go on.
“It’s discouraging, no doubt about it,” Celeste says.
All six of us sit there in silence, pondering our fate.
Finally, Shirley goes, “To be honest, I have a couple of places on my chin…”
“Me, too,” Rita jumps in.
“I have this place on the side of my face,” I say, “where there’s this tiny mole I have to keep an eye on.”
“Yup,” goes Dottie. “Here’s mine. I looked at it the other day, and suddenly there’s a hair about an eighth of inch long. Like overnight! I mean, What the heck? How long have I been walking around with this thing, I’m wondering?”
“Well,” Rita begins, “we have to get our husband to swear they’ll never let us leave the house with hair sprouting outta our face.”
“Fat chance. Charlie barely notices if I’m wearing a new outfit or I change my hair style. I mean, I just don’t trust he’s paying that much attention.”
Ever the voice of reason, Betty chimes in “Clearly, we have to do it for each other. Make a pact.”
“Yes!,” we all agree.
“And if I have a stroke or something,” Rita adds, “and end up in a coma, you have to promise to keep my eyebrows nice and trim my cuticles. Maybe do my hair once a week.”
“You bet, Rita. What are friends for?”
Shirley goes, “Geez Louise, this is getting way too deep for me. I could go for another one of these margaritas.”
“Me, too! Me, too!”
And before you know it, we’re on to other things, talking a mile a minute, eating like we haven’t seen food before and laughing like there’s no tomorrow. What a great bunch of gals!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: The Bearded Lady