I couldn't afford a raffle ticket

In the 18 months we've lived in Dallas, I've been wondering where all the big hair, balloon boobs and Tammy Faye faces have been. When we found out Monk's job was taking us to Dallas, it seemed everyone had a warning or a stereotype to pass our way. Seeing as how we blithely ignored the negatives of Albuquerque, rejecting the plethora of unsolicited (but very accurate, as it turned out) input in favor of dreams of clean air and mountain living, we decided to take the Dallas comments more seriously. However, while old money and oil money, bible-thumping (including scripture printed on vehicle windows), stereotypical gender roles and easy, friendly smiles have been prevalent, I've been hard-pressed to find this much-reported abundance of Texas-sized coifs, bosoms and cosmetic spackling. Where on earth have these supposedly well-renowned aspects of Texas living been hiding? Apparently at the American Heart Association's women's luncheon.

Boss had some spare change last week, so she decided to throw $300 at this charity event and buy us each lunch in the process. That's $150 per plate, people. I felt like Eliza freakin' Doolittle yesterday, in my Old Navy pants and Target sweater, surrounded by oh, let's just say a lot of very wealthy women. I should have known I'd be in over my head when the one outfit I deemed suitable for the event came out of the closet with dirt all over it (hence the Old Navy and Target show stopper). I jumped in Boss's BMW in my mismatched outfit and we raced over to Tiffany to take care of an errand before the luncheon. Did you know that if you regularly pour obcene amounts of cash into Tiffany's jewelry cases, they will do things like give you extra diamonds for free? I know, they've never told ME that either, and I shop there all the- wait, wrong life, sorry.

Have I mentioned that when I'm feeling uncomfortable around people I don't know very well, I tend to give out too much information? Even when I know they couldn't possibly relate, or be interested in what's clanking around in the background of my life? (Hey it could be worse- you could be someone I've met a couple of times and get attacked by a weird intimate hug at the end of a social evening.) Boss was talking about a friend whose drinking problem has become obvious and embarrassing. Instead of nodding along like I usually do, I guess I decided it would be neat to tell her about Biff coming to visit this month with her alcoholic boyfriend, and how we will be expected to go on a liquor run for him, and how the whole weekend will be awkward and stressful, blah blah, wringing of the hands. Now, A) she couldn't give a rat's furry behind about my personal life, no matter how many parallels I draw to her own stories, and B) that's the weekend she'll be having some kind of "female surgery," so yes, I'm sure my weekend will be equally taxing. Sad thing is, while the words were flying through the air, so was my mental Goodyear Blimp with its blinking "Stop talking Stop talking" message (but who pays attention to blimps these days?).

The luncheon was informative. I did not bid on any of the million-dollar items in the silent auction, nor did I contact Tiffany directly to inquire about the glorious diamond necklaces draped over the models circulating in evening wear. I did, however, learn that heart attacks are a bigger killer of women (above breast cancer) than ever, and that the points we use to identify a heart attack are actually specific to an attack in men. Women suffer different symptoms (a month of fatigue, irritability, chest pressure or dizziness, to name a few general, and alarming, signs) and often do not recognize them as a heart attack, which is just plain scary. We should all be informed about heart disease and cardiovascular health, that is for sure.

I also learned that 1) even an anorexic-looking runway model will still call herself "pudgy," 2) as a woman in Dallas, you can never wear too much jewelry, 3) a lot of women on the road yesterday afternoon were sporting quite the buzz, and 4) contrary to appearances, the woman sitting next to me was not, in fact, wearing a ferret around her neck (no, I was not the one that asked- I'd regained control of my brain-to-mouth censor by that point).

3 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

Heee. Loved that post. I wish you lived here. We would be great, great friends. Because I also say too much when nervous, don't pay attention to the blimp and sometime get the awkward hug thing. I can so relate.

11:56 PM  
Anonymous M. said...

I remember the weird intimate hug you received... Funny, stuff...

7:13 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh, you have to tell me about Biff's visit. When when when?

Thanks for the call over the weekend.

2:57 AM  

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