Everything in the Botanic Garden's Lovely

A visit to the Missouri Botanic Gardens..

After only a day, Grumpy and I had completely forgotten about Weight Watchers...

Not weeds, but a beautiful lotus garden

Musical Inspiration

One surprise find in St Louis came when we stumbled across Scott Joplin's house. The surprise was not only because I hadn't know Joplin had lived there, but because it was so easy to find. I have a history of dragging my family around God foresaken spots to find such places. In Key West it was driving around trying to find Ernest Hemingway's house. The worst was definitely walking miles to find Tennessee Williams' house, which we would have still be looking for today had Grumpy not dragged me off.

Joplin only lived in the house for six months, but being desperate to cling on to history, the city has kept the house as a museum.

Our tour guide claimed to be a professor of ragtime. Not sure if he was kidding or not, but he certainly played as if he was one! As a fledging pianist it was very inspiring, particularly as I have discovered the secret to playing expert ragtime. All I need is a player piano that you run rolls of music through by pumping your feet! Perfect music every time.

Meet Us In St Louis

This weekend we drove (or rather Grumpy did) nearly 300 miles to St Louis, Missouri. The city has a Southern feel to it, is full of history, but with a very modern icon, the Gateway Arch.

Standing here, we got a sudden craving for MacDonalds..don't know why!

It never pays to do the tourist thing. We paid $45 for a 20 minute 'tour' back to our hotel from the Lecledes Landing. Our horse Elvis, was probably more knowledgeable than the driver!

Old meets new everywhere in St Louis. The domed building is the old courthouse.

At the St Louis Art Museum we spotted this tiny soldier fighting a minotaur

Not the red balloon, but a red kite.

Union Station now houses dozens of shops and a hotel

It's certainly more attractive from the outside.

The arch isn't really lit at night, but because it's metal it reflects the light around it.

Jen Lancaster fans...read on

Today I made the truly horrible discovery that someone else has been living my life!
Unfortunately they haven't been taking care of my kids or cleaning my house. What they've been doing is writing a blog, been picked up and published and is now filling their days with exciting book tours!
The good thing is that it shows my plan has worked. The bad news is that it worked for someone else, meaning I am not as original as I thought.
The person I am talking about is Jen Lancaster, a very funny successful Chicago writer. You can check out her blog at...no, just a minute, she's doing well enough without me. If you're that interested Google her, and she can add another one to the 6,000 or so hits she gets on her blog each day. The fact that she gets so many hits probably indicates that she doesn't actually know all her readers personally, as I seem to.
Her success means she is too busy to reply to her fans. That'll show her. I'd much rather reply in far too much depth than is called for to the five people who have ever taken the time to e mail me. (Not that I am not very, very, very grateful to all of you, of course).
Jen writes very wittily about her life, and has just had her third book published. At book signings she is met by lines of adoring fans who dress like her in twinsets and pearls 1. She chats about her struggles with her weight, and although I am pleased to see I am far more successful in that area than she appears to be, I'd willingly strap a couple more donuts to my hips if it got me a book deal.
In a somewhat narcissistic attempt to poach some of her readers 2, I have included her name on this item since my blog often pops up on Google 3.

1 and that's just the men
2 and show off that I can spell narcissistic
3 for those of you who don't know her, Jen often uses footnotes which quite frankly just irritate me

The Musical, Dancing, Golfing Loser

My golf instructor told me today that I hit the golf ball "elegantly". Since I have never been accused of being elegant in my life, it made me wonder if all these hobbies are a bit confusing. Perhaps I play golf like I should be dancing? It may account for the following problems.

I play golf life I should dance.
Good Points: I never tread on anyone else's toes, swing in rhythm and focus on going to the ball.
Bad Points: I count one, two, three around the course, I have a whole in one stocking and ususually end up alone dancing around my golf bag.
I dance like I am at Weight-Watchers.
Good Points: I dance one step at a time, drink diet Tango and only miss a class when I've had too much to eat.
Bad Points: I wear flimsy shorts to dance in, do my own thing then wonder why it doesn't work and ask my instructor: "Are you sure there are no points in salsa?"
I tackle my weight loss like I write.
Good Points: Sometimes I am very successful; when I lose a little weight I look back and realise I need to lose a bit more; it's something which works best alone.
Bad Points: On a bad day, I give up and read a book while eating an entire box of chocolates.
I play the piano like I play golf.
Good Points: I'm good at playing Tee for Two, I have perfect pitch and I'm hoping to start my own swing band.
Bad Points: I always play in sunglasses so I look like Stevie Wonder. Pity I don't play like him.

Driving Range

I always thought driving ranges were so called because you use them to practise using your driver. (That's a kind of golf club for those as new to the game as I am).
However, I really feel they would be better used to teach people how to practise difficult driving situations.
Today I proudly drove Buffy off to our local range so we could practise in advance of tomorrow's lesson. (Actually I went a long to watch her while I sweated on a bench sipping water, but I hope some of her expertise rubs off).
Since Buffy always drives us everywhere, I was very happy to drive her the three miles or so to the range, convincing myself it more than makes up for the 500+ miles she must have driven me since we became friends.
The problem is the range is part of a very swanky local club on a busy road. It's nearly impossible to make the required left turn to get out, and I on my own I'll sit there for ages patiently waiting because I'm too chicken to do anything else.
After about 10 minutes of this, Buffy decided to call for action.
"Look, why not turn right, then you can turn round in that street over there," she said.
I finally managed to turn into the traffic, but then had to take an immediate left on the other side of the road. By the time I was able to cross, I realised the traffic was really stacked up behind me.
I finally made the required turn and got back in the right direction.
"The traffic's unusually busy for this time of day," I said, looking at the two mile line I had left in my wake.
"That's alright," said long-suffering Buffy. I'll drive tomorrow."

Mistress of None

In my role as semi-retired desperate housewife I have many hobbies, as regular readers will know. Golf, piano, playwrighting, novel writing, weight-watchers and dancing to name a few. I often feel I'd have more success if didn't insist on practising them all at the same time.

Last night we had another dance lesson. We've learnt the hustle, foxtrot and waltz, and are currently attacking the jitterbug. We can't actually do any of them, but it's fun trying and we like to give our instructor a challenge.

Unfortunately last night we had a little audience, as people started gathering for the dance session following our class. It's one thing laughing at yourself, quite another when other people start doing it.

Grumpy actually seemed to thrive on the attention, although it distracted him from counting which meant his dancing was worse than ever.

I was not so secretly pleased about this. In the Weight Watchers race he is streaks ahead of me - he's lost 10lbs in the time it's taken me to lose 5lb. Course there's no point in being a brilliant dancer if your partner is not up to it, so I usually dance badly just to match him, you understand.

However, as we prepared to leave, I was horrified when another instructor complimented Grumpy on his obvious weight loss.

It's enough to drive a girl to drink, which would probably account for my lack of success in the weighting game. However, with enough alcohol I see myself as a rival to Tiger Woods, a concert pianist, William Shakespeare, Jackie Collins, Daniel Barenboim and the entire cast of Riverdance, so I guess you can't have everything.

Barbecue: The Sequel

Plans are underway for our second annual barbecue, which takes place in six weeks time. Last year, you may remember, we had only been in the country three months and managed to attract about 60 guests, so this year we are hoping for even more. (Look back at July 2007 if you weren't reading then).
The good news is we now have our mandatory guests from England joining us, this time old friends plus three of their children. They're only staying for three days, so it will be handy that virtually everyone we know will be there at the same time!
Much as I love entertaining, the preparations are a little flat this year. Simply buying enough paper goods and foods just doesn't cut it, when this time last year we were desperately trying to get our house remodelled, furniture delivered etc.
What I'd really like to do is move the venue to an as yet unpurchased property, have it torn down, rebuilt and completely furnished just in time, but however hard I try, I can't convince Grumpy it's a good idea...

Naper Days

This weekend the Naper Settlement held its annual Naper Days festival. It's all about the kids, but since ours are on the other side of the world, we opted to go without them.

It's true you never see Americans walking anywhere. They had to use a train just to circumnavigate the grounds!
"So how long will it take me to get to Lake Michigan, Mommy?"

Finally someone we could all look up to!

Chick Shtick

I found myself in like-minded company yesterday, when I met up with the five women who make up Chick Shtick, the female improv group of Naperville’s Comedy Shrine.
“There’s an adage that women just aren’t funny,” they said. “We show them they can be. Some people tell us ‘I could never do that’. They don’t realise how funny we are.”
The girls, whose ages cover 20s to 50s, met last year when they attended an improv class. They were completely smitten by the bug, as now, as the graduating class, perform every Thursday evening before a real audience.
Emily Levin told me: “Improv is a two hour vacation for your brain. All your inhibitions go and the time goes really quick.”
Laura Duguid said: “Ever since watching Saturday Night Live I suppose I had secret aspirations to be on stage. I did an improv course about 15 years ago, so I thought I’d try it again.”
Improv Theatre was born in Chicago with Second City, perhaps the best known group of its type in the country. Some of its students now work at the Comedy Shrine, and teach classes there to adults and children.
“Everything we do is totally off the cuff,” said Emily, who by day teaches pre-school. “It is all a surprise to us.”
Laura says when performing improv, you have to be spontaneous.
“If you try to plan ahead, it doesn’t work. If you have an idea in your head and try and grab it, it makes you seize up. You just have to go out there and do it.”
The girls believe one their best strengths is the chemistry they have between them. Improvisation calls for a lot of trust.
Dance teacher Meredith Strombeck said: “This is a great training ground. As I get older I think I am more grounded. I can really put what I have learnt into practise.”
Kelly Timko says improv skills are very useful to know, even if you don’t want to perform.
“It helps people to think on their feet,” she said. “It fine tunes their listening. Sometimes companies will pay to send people to the classes for that reason.”
The fifth member of the team is water quality controller Katie Brisick. She has more experience than the others, having taken classes at college and performed in many community theatre projects.
Supporting them all is keyboard player Shane Shariffskul, a classically trained pianist who improvises music to help the show.
“The best compliment I’ve received is that after the show people might ask me if I have seen it. They don’t even notice I’m on stage,” he laughed. “It is a difficult job. The hardest part is having to trust the music. Even if I make a mistake, I have to carry on and work with it.”
The girls think Shane is imperative to their success. For example, if they have to perform in a certain genre, he will play suitable music which instantly helps to get them in the mood.
Says Laura: “We are fortunate we can do this. It is very generous of the Comedy Shrine to give us this experience.”

Table for Nine

Didn't even have time to rehearse the marching band before things started to unwind. This is what happened.
1. Spent all day running around shopping for bbq party.
2. Boss calls to say flight delayed.
3. Pace about waiting to see when he actually takes off.
4. Boss calls to say not coming tonight, but will be in first thing in the morning.
5. Go out for dinner we don't want because Boss was meant to be taking us out and we have nothing ready (apart from a bbq for 10 tomorrow night.)
6. 6.50 a.m. call from Boss to say he overslept and missed the flight, so won't be coming at all!
7. If anyone's looking for a bbq tonight, you know who to call...

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Tomorrow we're hosting a departmental barbecue for Grumpy's boss who is flying in from Philadelphia. Grumpy actually has two bosses, which explains why it is so difficult for only one wife to cope with him. Anyway, I got to thinking what I would need to do to really impress our latest guest. I thought some of these might work:

1. A high school marching band playing on the front lawn as he arrives.
2. Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen cooking dinner (gagged, of course).
3. A spare Rolls Royce for him to drive around in during his visit.
4. A private jet to fly him to and from his home. Might get Jett onto that one.
5. A musical number by his staff telling him how great he is.

Not sure that a few lettuce leaves and a burnt burger is really going to do it....

Hold the Front Page: Mayor finds lost earring!

My fame obviously hasn't spread that far. Yesterday I achieved a life-long (well 15 month long ambition). I finally got to meet Naperville's beloved mayor, George Pradel. On Saturday we were back at the jazz fest as guests of our friends David Harleyson and his wife, Kay Mary, the town's cosmetic queen.

Kay Mary introduced me as "that columnist from the paper". Unfortunately the mayor obviously has more important things to do than read me, because he had no idea who I was. Astonishingly he was delighted to meet Grumpy again, because he had been at a recent freemasons' event when the mayor received an award.

The mayor was not there as a freeloader, like us, but in his role as policeman. He still acts as one in a voluntary role sometimes, although he was a real one for many years before becoming mayor.

It was none the less a little disconcerting to be relaxing in hospitality when he came by waving a little earring asking if someone had lost it. Obviously in a town like Naperville, there was no crime to deal with at a large outdoor public event, so he busied himself by doing something kindly, like trying to return an earring. Typical of Mr Pradel, and typical of Naperville.

Naperville Jazz Fest: It's That Woman in the Radio Active T Shirt

Today saw the start of the second annual Naperville Jazz Festival. Last year we got soaked to the skin in torrential rain. This year there were gale force winds and tornadoes a few miles away.
This time I decided to volunteer as a greeter. Good practice for that job in Walmart I'm heading for if I don't get a publisher soon!
Anyway, at the appointed time I turned up to sign in. The weather was 86 degrees with brooding clouds and very strong winds, so it didn't look good.
"What size T shirt do you need?" said the volunteer coordinator rummaging around in a box of stuff that was so fluorescent green I swear it was radio active.
"Well, I'd like a small," I said. "But I think I actually need an extra large."
She looked up.
"Hah. It's you, from the paper isn't it?" she laughed. "I love your column."
Seeing the shocked look on my face, she immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you," she said.
"Oh no, not at all," I replied trying to look like this was an everyday occurrence.
I then spent three hours sitting at the Will Call table where the hardest job was trying to stop the thing from blowing away.
As luck would have it, one of the members of the top of the bill, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, gave me some spare tickets so I was able to go in and enjoy the concert for free. They were so good, I'd have enjoyed them even if I had to pay.
As I left my post to hand over to the next volunteer, I got a touch of deja vu.
"Oh, it's you from the paper," she squealed. "I recognise you from your picture. Oh I'm sorry, you must get sick of hearing that."
Not yet, I don't. Certainly saves me going up to strangers and having to tell them did you know it's me, that woman from the paper.....

In Her Shoes

Today I reached a milestone. No, still waiting to be scooped up by that publisher, but I drove myself all the way to Premium Outlets. And back!
Since I only live 20 minutes away, I can see why this wouldn't be headline news to most people, any of our visitors will vouch for what a coward I am in venturing out more than half a mile from my front door. Plus, I would never drive to an outlet mall in England, because the nearest one was over an hour away.
So this afternoon I happily spent two hours trotting around with two pairs of shoes (three if you count the ones on my feet). The fact that I actually brought them with me to exchange and I didn't actually buy anything today is neither here nor there.
The point is, had I actually wanted to buy anything, I could have. All by myself. As long as it was small enough to fit in my tiny car, that is.

A House Walk On The Wild Side

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’
“Can I buy tickets here?”
Eh? What?
“Oh, yes, of course,” I snap to my senses, putting my book down.
“It’s five dollars to see just this house, or twenty for the whole tour.”
I’m sitting under an umbrella basking in the sunshine outside a Tuscan style mansion in downtown Naperville.
“We’ll take two of the tour tickets, please.”
“Righty O.”
Great. Back to my book.
“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.“My dear Mr. Bennet,'' said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?''
Guess the housing market then was a little more buoyant than it is here in the U.S.
I’m interrupted again, this time by someone waving a ticket under my nose for me to cross off.
“There you go,” I smile, hardly lifting my eyes from my book. “Enjoy.”
It’s pretty easy, this volunteering lark. All I have to do is sit reading all afternoon while people file past to admire one of the houses in this year’s Live Downtown Naperville Custom Home Tour.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,'' said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?''
Drat. I’ve just read that bit. Where was I? Oh yes.
“Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.``But it is,'' returned she; ``for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.''Mr. Bennet made no answer.``Do not you want to know who has taken it?'' cried his wife impatiently.``You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.''This was invitation enough.”
“Hallo. Are you checking tickets?”
This is getting silly. How’s a girl to get into Pride and Prejudice with all these interruptions?
“Yes, yes. There you go,” I say, impatiently crossing off my house number on about six tickets being thrust under my nose all at the same time.
I return to my book, but this time I am distracted by something glinting in the sunlight.
What’s this? I pick up a small metal object with numbers on it. For a minute I think I should have brought The Da Vinci Code with me instead.
Drat! It’s the clicker, the one I’m supposed to use every time someone goes into the house.
I quickly press it a few times. That must be roughly it, I decide. Or maybe just a few more.
A tall blonde woman is approaching up the drive.
“Good afternoon, how are we doing?”
It’s the lady helping to co-ordinate the event, which a fund-raiser for the Naper Settlement and North Central College.
“Oh fine,” I say nonchalantly.
“How many have we had so far?” she asks.
I’ve been sitting here for half an hour now. I take a quick look at the clicker.
“18,457.”
“Good grief, are you sure?” she asks. “I know it’s a nice day, but it seems a bit unlikely.”
Luckily I’m taken off the spot by three families marching towards me at the same time.
I start clicking.
“Sorry, can’t chat, work to do,” I mumble.
Two hours later things have slowed down considerably. In fact they’re so slow, they’ve ground to a halt.
I look across the street and notice jealously than two children running a lemonade stand are doing a brisker trade than I am. Then I see another customer advancing in my direction.
“Hallo, is this the stop providing bruschettas?” she asks.
“Er no, but I have a banana in my purse if you’d like,” I reply, confused.
“Just joking,” she smiles.
Back to my book.
“Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.”
Hmm. Now I’ve missed a bit. Bother. Fed up, I put the book down and decide to ring Grumpy, volunteering at another house on the route.
“So, how many have you had through?” I can see him sneering down his cell phone. “I’ve done 287 so far and there’s still an hour left.”
“Well I’ve done..” I stop to look at the clicker. “19,231.”
No harm in a little exaggeration. I’d have no column if I didn’t do that just occasionally.

Those Who Can't.............Teach

A little confidence can be a dangerous thing.
Following the success of my directorial debut a couple of months back, I now appear to be a drama teacher. My acting skills must be better than I thought, since I not only managed to convince an actress I could teach drama, but a handful of kids as well!
It all started in April. I had heard a lot about Kidz Kabaret and was intrigued. A children's stage school where no one had to audition to get a part in a show sounded like my kind of place. I arranged a meeting with its founder, actress Kandiss Hernandez, who started the venture five years ago.
Their premises on Quincy Avenue, Naperville, is a den of organized chaos. Costumes and props fight for position in the entrance hall, desperately escaping from their proper homes at the back of the building. The whole place is painted a lurid shade of purple, with photos and posters of past productions decorating the walls. In the middle of this I found a cleaner in sweat pants hard at work vacuuming.
"Excuse me," I said, side-stepping a rack of costumes. "I'm looking for Kandiss. Can you tell me where she is?"
"Hi, pleased to meet you," she said, snapping off the vacuum. If the cleaning staff were this friendly, I thought, this must be a good place to work.
"Come on through."
She led me into an office with a 'We love Donna' sign on the door. We sat down with another lady, and the two of them joked around and made fun of my accent for a few minutes before I realized the cleaner was in fact Kandiss herself, and Donna was another drama teacher.
I started thinking. If someone who I thought was a cleaner actually ran the place, maybe I could persuade them I too was not quite what I seemed.
"You know I'd be happy to teach here myself," I heard that pushy woman in my head saying again. Sometimes I wonder if I am schizophrenic. I can't stop offering to do things I've never done before.
Kandiss seemed excited. It's amazing how many Americans link the British accent to Shakespeare and therefore dramatic ability. If that's what they choose to believe, it would be positively rude to persuade them otherwise.
"I could teach a script-writing class, where the children write their own comedy skit and then perform it," the woman carried on. "I've had experience of this before in England. It would be easy."
Which is how I came to spend the next three weeks on the Internet trying to find out how to actually write a script so it looked professional.
Eventually I cobbled together a six week course for third- through sixth-grade children. Kandiss assured me they would make a DVD for every child to keep, which sounded very professional. How they were going to write and put together a piece in such short time with a teacher less qualified than the class was beyond me, but as I relied on my normal strategy of closing my eyes and wishing really hard.
On the first week I was a little disappointed to see only five children had signed up. Kandiss assured me everyone has to start somewhere, and we would probably get more next time. Next time! Obviously she had more faith in me than I did.
I began by asking the children their names, four girls and a boy. I swear it took me until the end of week six to actually remember them. I think one girl must have thought I was picking on her, but it was only because she had the only name I could remember.
I got them all to tell me what kind of writing they enjoyed, and what made them laugh.
"I don't like comedy," said Sparky, slithering and twisting around his chair like snake who had been at the whiskey. "I like stories about aliens and war."
Good start. "So what made you choose to do this course?" I tried, hoping he also had secret aspirations to be a famous novelist, even if it was by writing stories about war-torn aliens.
He replied with the honesty only a child can give.
"My mom made me."
After the first week, I realized that being bright Naperville children, they hardly needed me at all. They came up with a cute idea about California girls meeting an alien on a beach and in the end, scaring him away. Everyone played their favorite character, the girls were girly and Sparky spent the whole piece growling and waving a weapon around. The DVD was so good, the editing, sound and visual effects turned a piece of children's theater into a tiny professional movie.
What was even more surprising was that I seemed to have gotten away with it again. Wonder if they need any surgeons at Edward Hospital?

This article appears in today's Naperville Sun. If you think it's bad, just note the front page lead was how residents should be allowed to have washing lines to save power!

Sex and the City of Naperville

Two days ago, I was one of those women. Those women who thought they could have it all. My name is Hilary Decent. Week after week my girlfriends were my salvation. Three weeks, and three successful columns in the Naperville Sun later, they were my meal ticket. (Assuming a small bag of chips constitutes a meal).
So there we were, four highly successful women, meeting the heart of the city of Naperville.
We met at the fashionable hour of 5.46 p.m. There was Buffy, the perky blonde whose hair is never out of place, even when she shakes her head. Venus, the sporty one, on one hand a caring mom, on the other, an engineer succeeding in a man’s world. Ruby Nesk, the lively Titian haired librarian who the public are always trying to shush. And bringing up the rear, me, the short, dumpy one with comfortable Naturaliser sandles, and a delicate little purse so crammed full of stuff it wouldn’t close.
Outside the city of Naperville roared past. The city we all love. The city where you can’t run out of a building and hail a cab because there aren’t any. The city full of chic restaurants. There’s nowhere on earth more classy than Potbelly, I always think. The city where the stores are bursting with designer clothes, which unfortunately I burst out of whenever I try any of them on.
At the heart of the city flows the river. At it’s tip, the iconic statue that connects Naperville to the rest of the world - Walter and Grace Fredenhagen, owners of the property which was the original site of Prince Castle and Cock Robin Ice Cream.
“This is so fun,” I say to the girls. “Here we are with successful careers and living in the best city in the world. Yet we still find time on a Saturday night to get together for dinner and a movie.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Venus replies, idly thumbing through the menu. “I’ve been on call all day. Problems at work. I’m exhausted. I’m so hot I can’t even get my new super expensive face cream to stay on!”
We nod sympathetically. That’s why I stick to Crisco.
“Well at least we can relax now,” says Ruby before we all shush her. Force of habit, I’m afraid. “What are you drinking? Is anyone up for a Brazilian Wax?”
“What? Here? I know it’s a trendy Naperville restaurant, but really?”
“No, silly, it’s a cocktail,” she replies.
“Oh, in that case I’ll try one,” I say gamely.
“I’ll have a Cosmo,” says Buffy. “I was drinking them before everyone else did.”
A few drinks later, we were giggling wildly and talk turned to my man, the love of my life, Mr Grumpy.
“I wish he would just leave me alone sometimes and go back to his wife,” I confessed.
“But you are his wife,” Venus reasoned.
“That’s why I am drinking. To forget,” I sobbed into my glass.
The city roared just outside our window. We really must find a quieter restaurant next time.
“Has something happened?” asked Buffy, full of concern as usual. “What has he done to you now? You poor girl, have a sip of my Cosmo.”
“He took me to the golf range the other day, so I could practice my swing,” I told them as they moved in, waiting for the juicy bits.
“He..he was so critical,” I said, tears beginning to drip into my drink. I moved it away. No sense in diluting it. “He told me I didn’t look like the other golfers. That I was standing wrong. That…that…I ..I ..was NO GOOD!”
The girls looked aghast as I started sobbing loudly.
“And what makes it worse, is that he has never played a game himself in his life!”
“Men can be so cruel sometimes,” said Ruby, a little too loudly.
She put a comforting arm around me.
“Forget about it now, we have a movie to get to,” she said.
“Yes, we can work on your swing tomorrow,” said Buffy. She never gives up, that girl.
Two hours later, together with 200 other women, we settled down to watch Sex and the City. I’ve never seen such an unrealistic film in my life! A 50-year-old woman lying naked with only sushi to protect her modesty? Surely that should be two dozen hamburgers and a 15” pizza?