It was a Sunday evening and all five of us from work were going out for drinks, dinner, and down-home gossip. Being the most reserve, I was never prepared for the evening’s outcome, but I always knew it would be entertaining.
“Who do you have to blow, to get some food around here,” said Monique, as she looked me straight in the eye, a tilted grin on her face, and her fingers drumming the table top.
Without thinking, I leaned over and shushed loudly. “Shush! Be patient, the waitress is coming. Don’t you know another word that’s less vulgar?”
“Sure I do, but its fun yanking your chain,” said Monique.
I smiled my I don’t give a damn smile and said, “Thanks, I appreciate that. And you wonder why people react the way they do.”
Giving me the cold shoulder, Monique started talking to Caroline about the guys one table over.
“Don’t mind her Lizzy,” said Bertie. “She’s just being stupid.”
“If she says something like that again, I’m going to smack her right upside the head.”
“Don’t worry. Ignore her; I do.”
“I’ll try, Bertie, but she’s so obnoxious.”
As the girls talked, I sat back and watched. Across the table was Brianna, a cute little blonde with long straight hair. You never knew what was going on in that pretty little head of hers or worse, what would come out of her mouth. She had no finesse and often experienced foot-in-mouth disease. Having turned 21 a few days ago, Brianna was determined to try as many different mixed drinks as possible. While at Chi Chi’s, she had Margaritas. Now at the English Pub around the corner from the store, Brianna was drinking a kiwi flavored candy drink.
I looked at Bertie, and nodded my head towards Brianna. "If that doesn't make her sick, I'm going to be surprised."
"Be happy, you're not working in the morning. Bri's on with me," said Bertie smiling. "Well at least she's having a good time."
All I could think of when peering at Caroline was a blonde Scarlet O'Hara. Not quite 5’2” tall, she was dressed in an antique gold off the shoulder blouse and slim black skirt. Caroline's southern accent rolled off her tongue like sugar water mesmerizing all who listened. She was a strong, self-made woman who had a love’em, leave’em attitude when it came to men. Somewhere in her past was a tale waiting to be told.
Monique hovered on the edge of 40. She worked two jobs; one paid the bills while the other was for fun. She had cafe-au-lait skin, tight milk chocolate curls, and an enchanting smile. Monique was known for her crazy stunts and outrageous mouth. People either loved her or hated her, but she didn’t care. Life was too short to worry about differing opinions.
Bertie was our anchor. Strong and robust, she brought balance to the group. Without her mothering advice, there was no telling what kind of mischief the girls would get into. She had a dry sense of humor, a laugh all her own, a huge heart, and a not so subtle nature.
And then there was me, Lizzy Donaldson. Oldest of the group and the only one married, I’m the quiet bystander. Considered by the group to be too nice and understanding, I often shake my head in comical despair wondering how I ever got mixed up in all this. But then I remember, plain and simple, the girls are like family. So every three or four months and with my husband's blessing, I get dressed up and head out with the girls for an evenings X-rated gossip, high jinx, and laughter.
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