We are a loose band of women, or a band of loose women, however you want it, that began looking for activities to consume our boundless energy, humor, and enthusiasm while at the same time getting us away from our husbands and children and drawing attention to ourselves. For over twenty years, we have conducted well choreographed and costumed 'ambushes' on unsuspecting others.
We have officers; I am Madame President, my sister MJ (Madame Cruise Director), my niece Ron (Madame Wardrobe Mistress), my niece-ster DD (I'll explain later) (Madame Don't Give Her Tequila), my sister W (Madame East Coast President Who is Not as Important as Madame President). Other members drift in and out, or stumble in and are thrown out, at random. We are kind of like a less well-behaved Red Hat Society. Sort of the tramps of Junior League. Not that we do anything counter to our marriage vows, we just have the kind of fun most people would call outrageous, but secretly wish they themselves could have.
Like the time we showed up at Ron's latest sweetie's place (she's single), all dressed in black, head to toe. We rolled up in my van (Vanna White), music from Mission Impossible blaring, bailed out, wrapped his car and porch with crime scene tape, walked right past the poor guy without acknowledging him, and hit the breaker switch, killing the lights. We scuttled about with flashlights, filling pillowcases with loot, while he's standing there, all 'Hey, guys, this is funny. Hey, you guys are great, heh-heh...' We continued to ignore him, occasionally flashing a camera in his face. Then, as quickly as we had appeared, we left. With all of his toilet paper, paper towels, underwear and socks (clean and dirty), silverware, breakfast cereal, television remote, and light bulbs. Then we went for a glass of wine, still dressed all in black.
Two hours later, he called Ron. She acted like nothing had happened. It was so cool. Damn, that's good fun, right there!
Or the time MJ's friend, a professional singer, was having a birthday. We dressed up as hookers (I was Jet Bodette, motto: Faster than the speed of sound, and I'll leave a light on for you...) and went to an opening performance. We made a scene over him, getting way too familiar, implying that he was a favorite customer. Turns out he had recently gotten engaged and his soon-to-be mother-in-law was there with various aunts to meet him and see him perform. Doesn't get much better than that!
For my husband's birthday, we renovated a bay in a steel building on our farm into a realistic Mexican border brothel and cantina. We wrote and performed songs about his youthful days in Mexico (don't ask). We served authentic food, beer and tequila. Plastic cockroaches were strategically placed. Fly swatters were given to all the ladies for fans. Little kids even came, spinning and dancing in costume. And, if you think we don't know realistic, you gotta understand; George lived in Mexico for seven years, myself, two. We love Mexico, but we gotta laugh and make fun of some of the cultural experiences.
The ambushes, as we call them, are elaborate, time-consuming and sometimes expensive. But, as we like to tell one another, it's cheaper than therapy...
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