I knew they'd
say yes. No woman in her right mind would turn
down wine, chocolate, or cheese, and I was offering
all three intoxicating pleasures along with a bonus
fourth -- stimulating discourse with like-minded
ladies. The Evite I'd received indicated this event
was for "women and brave men." To suit my motives,
however, I insisted that each invitee leave her
courageous counterpart at home. The five of us
had never been together sans men, and I was curious
to test the dynamic. If things went as I thought
they might, I would have myself a bona fide coterie
that -- as a metropolitan woman -- I craved.
I'm finicky about females. This may have something
to do with the fact that I grew up with three sisters
and no brothers -- boys were a novelty, to be collected
and examined, while all girls suffered my comparison
to the standards of blind loyalty and biting humor
set by my siblings.
People who like themselves have no need for
pretenses, and women who are content in their
own lives lack the competitive urge to be catty.
Each of the women invited out on this momentous
Wednesday was satisfied in her job, happy with
her man, and confident in her opinions. Our only
poverty, I believe, was the dearth of a positive
experience with a group of other women. I used
to think that girls, with all of their insecurities
and competitiveness, made bad friends. But that's
only because, as a young woman,
I
was insecure and competitive. Before I figured
out who I was and what I wanted, I was incapable
of fostering real friendship, and I have the
relationship carnage to show for it.
The tasting event was called PMS Wednesday
(opportunely timed for me), put on by the female-owned
Tango Wine Company. There's no underestimating
the comfort of being around fellow members of
the fairer sex when one is bloated and crampy.
Men, for all their sympathy and reverence, just
can't relate to the trials and tribulations of
tampons. But this outing wasn't about my hormones
and temporary anemia; it was about feminine camaraderie
and forging friendships.
Bringing together a group of people who barely
know each other is like baking a cake with uncommon
ingredients---- you're unsure how each part might
react when mixed and heated. And I had exotic,
strong flavors to blend with.
Jen, my horror-movie partner, is a dirt-bike-riding
redhead who works in a machine shop. She's shy
and quiet in a crowd, but unrestrained and outrageously
irreverent once it thins out. Rosa, black-haired
and red-lipped, is as elegant and handsome as
the flower for which she is named and possesses
in her stem the same sharp defenses. She is soft-spoken,
poised, and always glamorous in huge bangle jewelry
and solids accented by very pointy, spiked heels.
Janet's shiny straight hair is auburn with light-blonde
streaks, representing her varied passion for
art, reading, politics, and entertaining. Authentic,
thoughtful, solid, and forthright, Janet makes
no attempt to veil her opinions. Both Rosa and
Janet are executives for major corporations.
Amy is aesthetically suited for her career in
outside sales. This petite blonde bombshell's
closet is a feminine river of soft and satiny
silk. Amy is a dedicated foodie and doesn't hesitate
to travel by plane for the sole purpose of dining
at a nice restaurant about which she's read.
Then there's me. I could be flattering, but
we all know Barbarella is the control freak --
the active ingredient in this bowl, the yeast
that makes the dough rise, the salt that draws
out the flavors. I had to be careful; I know
from experience that it's easy to add too much
salt and that once you do, the dish is ruined.
In this case, it turned out that a dash was all
that was needed.
Jen and I arrived promptly at 5 o'clock and
grabbed the first two glasses of wine and nibbles
of chocolate before the rest of the chairs had
even been set out. We watched as the place filled
up with gals in office clothing and the occasional
guy in a tie. Janet, Amy, and Rosa appeared in
quick succession.
