I had dinner with two high school chums this past weekend. We had a blast from the past. By a huge (wait – HUGE) stretch of the imagination, you might say we felt like Barbie, Ken and Midge. Of course, you’d have to imagine the threesome age appropriate, not frozen in plastic. And you’d have to imagine that trips to the soda shop were code for bar hopping. And you’d have to imagine that those yummy looking ice cream beverages had no less than three shots of rum in them.
Hey, that’s what Barbie was all about, right? A girl using her imagination.
So, this past Saturday Ken cooked for Barbie and I, and we all ate heartily. No skinny model fare for these aging dolls, we partook of roast pork and potatoes in gravy and washed it all down with red wine and beer. Well, they drank beer. I drank the wine, the whole bottle, by myself. Beer makes me bloat.
I brought dessert, which we forgot to eat because we were busy finishing off the shrimp appetizers – two kinds. Of course, if we’d had the leisure of more time I’m sure we would have gotten to my dessert . . . and I to the second bottle of wine.
“What was the rush?” you might wonder. Our chauffeured four door ride arrived on schedule to pick us up. I mention it was four doors because I totally embarrassed myself earlier in the evening proving that point.
Upon setting out for our friendly tête à tête I opened the front passenger door, pulled the seat lever to allow me into the back seat, the polite thing to do since our driver was Barbie’s hubby, and was quite confused.
The seat didn’t slide forward to allow me access. How could I possibly maneuver my ample, aging middle aged Midge body through that tiny crack of space between front seat and car frame? Then it dawned on my slightly sluggish brain that this must be a four-door sedan.
Yes, indeed, there was a back door for the back seat into which I climbed, laughing at my own foible. Not quite as hard as Barbie was laughing though – that bitch.
I mean, it’s not like she can see any better than myself. Which is exactly the reason why her accommodating hubby was driving us 25 miles to our dinner destination with another man, and then returning to pick us up at the appointed time.
“You’ll have to drive,” she said to me when we made our plans. “I have terrible night vision.”
“Me? Drive? I won’t be able to have any wine.” It was of course an excuse, and the jig was up the minute I tried to shimmy my ample ass into her backseat from the front door of the car . . . in broad daylight.
Can’t find my car in the parking lots,
can’t drive after dark, can’t afford a full time chauffeur. Good thing our hubbies take such good care of us. You see, it wasn’t just Barbie’s wedded beau. My darling spouse made up the second half of the relay, picking me up at end of evening at Barbie’s pad and safely delivering me the rest of the way home.
This is truly sad. Not only do I lose my car in average sized parking lots in the middle of the day, now I can’t drive the dang thing after dark.
I think for our anniversary I’m going to buy him a black leather jacket and one of those jaunty chauffeur’s caps. The alternative of course, if for Ken,
Barbie and Midge to just start having sleep-overs.
. . .. . mid
GET A ^ LIFE at MAD Goddess
Bab’s requested this updated photo of her to be posted. Your wish is my command, dear friend.
And I had to add this one – not sure if it’s that little Midgens but the hair color and wrinkles are about right.
Finally, Ken in all his gray haired glory (and his bitch on a leash).