On Thursday I went to coffee with the Buzz Club (my teacher besties).
There’d been a long flurry of FB messages on Wednesday night because one of our group had to be flown down to Brisbane for emergency surgery on Tuesday. It was serious. None of us had been able to sleep we were so worried about her. She’s doing okay, thank God.
The decision of where we were going for coffee took up another long bustle of inane and pointless messaging. Finally we agreed on a time and destination and the next day I arrived 5 minutes early at the cafe and sat waiting for about fifteen minutes, twiddling my thumbs, cursing their tardiness under my breath and silently tut-tutting teenagers with their arses hanging out of their shorts walk past.
Finally, in a fit of impatient fury, I rang Kyles.
“Where the hell are you bitches?” I hissed into the phone. “I’ve been sitting here by myself for half an hour! The waitress thinks I’m a homeless person. She’s taken the packets of sugar off the table!”
Naturally, I’d gone to the wrong cafe in confusion because of the countless places that had been suggested the previous night.
“It’s your own fault, Pinky!” they all screeched when I stalked in, wild-eyed and cranky.
“Where the hell are you bitches?” I hissed into the phone. “I’ve been sitting here by myself for half an hour! The waitress thinks I’m a homeless person. She’s taken the packets of sugar off the table!”
Naturally, I’d gone to the wrong cafe in confusion because of the countless places that had been suggested the previous night.
“It’s your own fault, Pinky!” they all screeched when I stalked in, wild-eyed and cranky.
"You're going senile," Kazzy quipped.
Coffee with the girls transpired as it usually did with smutty reflections on how the silhouettes painted on the wall resembled penises and Shazza volunteering to pose for a prank photo with one of the said penises. We snorted and giggled in our usual infantile camaraderie.
Coffee with the girls transpired as it usually did with smutty reflections on how the silhouettes painted on the wall resembled penises and Shazza volunteering to pose for a prank photo with one of the said penises. We snorted and giggled in our usual infantile camaraderie.
“I’m going to lunch with my old friends I haven’t been out with for fifteen years, tomorrow,” I chimed. “I’ll have to act classier than I am with you lot. Those ladies are from the other side of town. The good side of town. They’re more refined and stylish. There’ll be no joking about penises.”
“Ah garn!” the trouble-making element of the Buzz Club slurped her skinny latte. “We’re classy, Pinky!”
I was a bit nervous meeting up with my friends from another life, yesterday. We’d all belonged to a playgroup together when our kids were toddlers. I’d followed their children’s progress over the years, often seeing them in the newspaper, winning awards or graduating with medical degrees and other highly successful endeavours.
I was immediately in trouble the minute I arrived because I was supposed to make the restaurant booking and typically, I hadn’t… so we had to lug uneven tables together. It’s always my fault, it seems, even after fifteen years, always the scapegoat.
Despite not having sat down to a wine and lunch with these ladies for so long, the conversation still managed to rapidly degenerate into subjects such as; unexpected but thrilling orgasms in middle-age, the particular preferences for how we all groom our squish mittens, and what laser surgery we’d all had over the years.
I was a bit nervous meeting up with my friends from another life, yesterday. We’d all belonged to a playgroup together when our kids were toddlers. I’d followed their children’s progress over the years, often seeing them in the newspaper, winning awards or graduating with medical degrees and other highly successful endeavours.
I was immediately in trouble the minute I arrived because I was supposed to make the restaurant booking and typically, I hadn’t… so we had to lug uneven tables together. It’s always my fault, it seems, even after fifteen years, always the scapegoat.
Despite not having sat down to a wine and lunch with these ladies for so long, the conversation still managed to rapidly degenerate into subjects such as; unexpected but thrilling orgasms in middle-age, the particular preferences for how we all groom our squish mittens, and what laser surgery we’d all had over the years.
To be honest, it was as if we hadn’t seen each other for a week. I'm positive they would have loved my penis observations.
Some bonds can’t be broken.
I thought about it and I realised it’s not a coincidence I have the same familiarity and connection with this group of women as I have with the Buzz Club.
I just have bloody good taste in friends.
Some bonds can’t be broken.
I thought about it and I realised it’s not a coincidence I have the same familiarity and connection with this group of women as I have with the Buzz Club.
I just have bloody good taste in friends.
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| Lisa, Pinky, Jill-Anne, Sally and Penny. |
