funny, isn't it?
by jeanne charters

The square white envelope arrived in my mailbox on April 7.

The familiar scrawl brought an immediate grin to my face. It was from Annie, a close, crazy friend who had recently relocated to Charlotte. You could never be sure what to expect from Annie … but you knew it would be fun!

I knew that Annie was opening soon in a community theater performance of “The Women”. As a matter of fact, I was planning to attend the final performance later that month. I would be staying at Annie’s condo and we planned a girls’ night of catch up and laughter.

I opened the card eagerly. What in the world was she up to now? The invitation was written in the same broad hand as the envelope. It said, “You are cordially invited to a Girls Only Slumber and Martini Party on April 26 following the closing performance of ‘The Women’. Bring your pillow and a favorite snack for sharing. There will be 12 women attending. Prepare a song or ditty if you wish. Karaoke will be available.”

A “slumber and martini” party??? With 10 women I had never laid eyes on?? Oh, what the hell … what did I have to lose? I didn’t know many people in Charlotte anyway.

“The Women” was as biting as I remembered and beautifully staged and performed. My pal was Stage Manager and the show went off without a hitch. After the final curtain, Annie and I piled into her car, followed by the cast and crew… all women … 10 of them. One of the women was a professional bartender, and she immediately started mixing drinks upon our arrival at Annie’s condo. Cosmopolitans, Purple Hooters, Chocolate Martinis. I had a Cosmo, tasted a Purple Hooter (didn’t like it) and declined the Chocolate Martini. It is my avowed belief that if God had wanted martinis to be chocolate, He/She would not have invented Snickers bars.

The 12 women ranged in age from 40 to 85. Since I was the only stranger there, I decided to sit back and observe … lapse into my “Eye of the Beholder” mindset. It’s a role with which I am totally comfortable, and my reporter’s mind relishes an opportunity to observe strangers at play.

As the drinks flowed, the crowd got looser. Suddenly, a middle-aged blonde lifted her blouse and flashed the room. She was braless. “Hmm, interesting,” I mused. “Wonder why she did that.” I later learned that this woman was the President of the Theater Group, so I guess she figured she should take a leadership role in the events of the evening.

The karaoke machine was set up next. Annie was first. She did a takeoff on Patsy Cline’s “Crazy”.

“Crazy … I stopped taking hormone replacement. My doctor, she told me that it was not safe. Now that I stopped taking hormone replacement, hot flashes are back and there’s sweat on my face.”

I would tell you the rest of the verses; but this is, after all, a classy magazine and I do not want to shock!

Next, a 40-year-old woman with long red hair strode to the karaoke machine. Her ditty was to the tune of “Memories” from “Cats”.

“Memories, all alone with my feelings. I can dream of the old days. He would never sleep then. I remember the time I knew what horniness was. Let the memory live again,” she sang sweetly. As the verses progressed from lewd to lewder, she began to shed her clothes. Again, I mused, “I wonder why she’s doing that.” By the time she sang the last verse, she was naked as the day she was born. In the interests of science, I will now verify that this woman is, in fact, a natural redhead.

Others of the women began removing clothing. Most got down to their skivvies. Nobody but the redhead peeled all the way. Finally, the sweet, lovely, 85-year-old woman told the crowd that “they need to learn the art of the tease”. They put on stripper music and she proceeded to remove all clothing but her bra and panties. I must say, she looked pretty good. I credited that to the fact that she had not borne and nursed a baby and probably didn’t touch carbs (except gin).

The point of my sharing this with you, dear reader, is that somehow this whole evening was rather sweet and quite liberating. It didn’t seem “dirty” at all … credit the Cosmos, I guess. But it did make me realize that under all the frills and finery, we’re all alike ... quite literally! Nobody at the party was perfect. Neither was anyone imperfect. We were women. Our bodies were quite different, each from the other and yet so very much the same.

Funny, isn’t it? The thing about this evening that seems the most ironic to me is that I had to move from wicked New York to the Bible Belt to experience one of the most guilty and innocent evenings of my life.

The next day when I called my dear friend Vera, the “wild woman of Albany” to tell her about the party, she would not believe me. She should have been there. I’ll lay odds that she would have given the redhead a run for her money.