My very dear, very southern, friend who lives down the street celebrated her 70th birthday on Thursday.  I volunteered to hostess her birthday party.  We invited her three closest friends on the block and we all went out to lunch.  Afterwards we had cake and coffee at my house.  I never thought I would know so much about the “widders” on the block, but you would be surprised what old women talk about when they are egged on just a bit.

It started with the drive to Rogers.  When my very dear, very southern, friend came in to the house to tell me that everyone was waiting in the car for me to drive them to lunch.  She said Miss J. is in the front seat.  “She is always in the front seat.  She just refuses to give it up to anyone!”  In the back, beside my friend, was Miss Jo (who is almost completely deaf despite the two hearing aids she wears), and Miss M.  As I was walking out the door I could hear them shouting at one another.  I thought their might be a brouhaha going on, but it was just the voice they speak in when Miss Jo is around.  I sat down in the driver’s seat and asked if anyone needed to tee-tee, because I wasn’t stopping along the way.  I quickly found out that not only had they gone before they left, but at least 2 of them were wearing panty shields just in case there was any leakage.

Let me say right now that many laughs were concealed by coughs as I drove these ladies to lunch.  Now we are talking about very pristine little Catholic women who it seems wouldn’t say shit, if they had a mouthful.  Their hair is done regularly by a beautician.  Their clothing was impeccable.  The things that came out of their mouths was hilarious.  The first laugh came when Miss J began to tell me that she didn’t know why. but whenever they went anywhere everyone insisted she sit up front.  “I’ve offered over and over again, but no one seems to want to sit up here.  I think they think this is my place.”  I had my first coughing fit then and there.  I quickly realized that the car was divided into two sections.  In the front seat, Miss J and I had our own conversations.  In the back seat, due to Miss Jo’s hearing deficit, an entirely different conversation was going on.  It was loud too!  Miss Jo never realized when anyone else was talking.  So you could be having a wonderful discussion, think Carrie Prejean, when she would start talking about something entirely different.  She never realized that she was interrupting anyone’s conversation.  She thought she was just keeping conversation alive.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I pulled up to the curb and allowed the ladies to disembark, then I parked the car and walked to meet them.  I can’t begin to tell you how much this impressed them.  They went on and on about how sweet that was.  I don’t think that they were really overly impressed with how sweet it was as much as they were amazed that the Queen of Halloween had manners.  We proceeded into the  dining facility and were placed in one of the corner booths that was semi-circular.  We scooched in.  With women in their 70’s and 80’s this is less of a scooch and more of a really, really, slow butt walk.  Finally we were all seated and I passed out the menus.  The conversation quickly turned to “what sounds good?”  When the food was delivered the conversation became, “yours looks better.”  Somewhere between the two the conversation turned to whether or not it was best to sleep in panties.  I now know who does and doesn’t sleep in their panties.  I also know who sleeps in big, ol’ cotton panties and who sleeps in nylon panties with cotton crotches.  They are all big…thank God!  With all those panty liners I would hope they would have plenty of material to stick to.  I had trouble sleeping that night.  I saw vision of huge cotton bloomers with wings flying at my head.

After eating, we went to Belk’s to shop.  My very dear, very southern friend who lives down the street was looking for a quilt rack.  Or as she said, “you know, one of those racks that you put quilts on.”  To which I replied, “A quilt rack.”  An embarassed, “yeah, that’s what I was thinking about” followed.  Once again I drove them up to the doors and let them out.  Miss M made sure that everyone synchronized their watches and demanded that everyone meet up at the shoe department in 30 minutes.  Then they scattered like leaves in the wind.  At promptly 2:30 p.m. all five of us were in the shoe department, and I told the ladies that I would go get the car and meet them out front.  I sat in the car for at least five minutes waiting for them to come out.   I wondered why, when they were all gathered in one place, why their migration took so long.  Then they leaked out the door, kind of like honey on a cold day, and I realized that might be part of it.  The conversation that was taking place as they entered completely solved the mystery.  They were checking receipts to see who had saved more money.  An ah ha moment followed.

We headed home and the conversations rolled.  Miss J and I talked about current events and The View.  I have no idea what the conversations in the back consisted of, other than the fact that Sarah Palin’s book had already reached the discount bin at Borders.  That conversation made it to both sections of the car.  Four out of five had no interest what so ever in the book.  Miss M is quoted as saying, “I learned enough of her crap when she was running for office.”  I also got snippets of a conversation that seemed to be about Miss M hating the word pee.  Apparently piss is okay, but not pee.    We arrived home for cake and coffee.  The cake was gluten free and we all tasted with apprehension.  My very dear, very southern friend, who lives down the street has celiac disease.  The cake was delicious so we had several conversations about the cake, and how you couldn’t tell the difference.  Then there was the argument of who was taking cake home.  “I’m full.  I don’t need any more cake.”  “Take some.  You can eat it later.”  “I bet I could freeze it, and just thaw it out when I want it.”  “It would last in the refrigerator for at least a week.”  And so on, but when the time came all the cake was divied out.  As they left my home, I gave each a hug and told them what fun I had.  I was quickly informed that they had decided we should do this once a month.  I was to be the driver.   Then they filed out.  As they were walking down the sidewalk, I hear Miss J say to the others, “our conversations are much livelier with Sloopy than they are on our own.”  One final coughing spell and I shut the door.

I really did have a good time with the “widders”.  My mother didn’t join us for lunch, but she came over for birthday cake.  I asked her to seriously consider going with us the next time, and she said she thought she would probably go.  Now mom and Miss Jo can shout at each other and the rest of us can talk quietly.  I hadn’t been home long when the phone rang.  My very dear, very southern friend, who lives down the street wanted to thank me for a wonderful birthday.  “Everything was just perfect!”, she gushed.  I told her how happy I was that she had a good time, and hung up the phone.  Shortly after that the doorbell rang and one of my new friends had brought me a little treat to thank me for hostessing the party.  I graciously accepted, invited her in, and she declined.  As I turned away from the door once again, I began to wonder if they viewed me as “one of the girls” or a child that they tolerated.  After much consideration, I realized I just don’t want to know.

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