Ladies who Lunch

Tomorrow I am going to a Ladies Lunch.

I can’t decide whether I ought to be excited (all the new friends I’ll make!) or anxious (what shall I wear? What shall I say? What if nobody wants to sit next to me?)

I am not very practiced in the art of Lunching. Once upon a time, a long time ago, when I lived in Northern Tanzania, before I relocated to the Outpost, I was on the periphery of a circle of women who Lunched. Actually not so much on the periphery as over the edge: I wasn’t ever invited which was as well for, on reflection, I probably didn’t have enough in common with any of them to sustain a conversation (I wasn’t Tiger Mother enough; didn’t own a single piece of Prada and couldn’t tell the difference between Gucci glasses and stuck-in-a-traffic-jam rip-offs?). And certainly not enough to prevent me from running out of things to say during an interminable meal where nobody ate anything but rocket salad (having pushed it around their plates 497 times) and nobody drank anything but mineral water or sugar-less black coffee. Did they all go home, afterwards, I wondered, and stuff their beautifully made up, unlined faces with chocolate biscuits and cheese sandwiches washed down with three-spoon builder’s tea? They were all immaculately dressed – it would have taken me a lifetime to turn myself into a tidy approximation of any of them and my bedroom (for I lacked an apparently essential dimension in a Dressing Room) would have looked as if 106 tornadoes had ripped through it. No sign of sweat or dust or creases (primarily because they supervised the laundry and the air conditioning in their new Toyota Pradas worked).  They never wore shorts with holes in them or went barefoot or left home without any make up on or let their dogs sleep on their beds.


I only know two of the ladies with whom I will lunch tomorrow. I know they wear shorts because I have dog walked with them – none of us wore more than sunblock on our faces – and I think their shorts, like mine, might also have holes in them. I suspect their dogs might sleep on their beds because post walk and after a pond swim, a polar-bear proportioned and sponge wet Retriever hopped onto the rear seat of his mistresses car with an air that suggested he was accustomed to such comforts. Even if the Lunching Ladies of my past ever walked their dogs, I doubt they allowed them into their cars unless firmly secured in a cage in the back.

I can’t be certain but I have a hunch that my distant past and recent history conspire to suggest this lunching experience might be friendlier, warmer, louder?

And we might even get something to eat.

 

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8 Responses to “Ladies who Lunch”

  1. nuttycow Says:

    I have a feeling your new ladies will be the boozy, chatty, laughing kind of ladies (ie, the best kind)

    Have a great time 🙂

  2. Potty Mummy Says:

    I agree with Nuttycow – at least, I certainly hope they are!

  3. Janelle Says:

    Heh he….hope you enjoy anthea! Xxx

  4. Lottie Lockwood Says:

    I know which kind of lunch I’d prefer and it’s definitely not the one involving rocket & mineral water! Hope you have a rip-roaring gorgeous time x

  5. robyn Says:

    surely there will be a glass of wine or two…?

  6. Jackie Says:

    Here’s to a good boozy, chatty lunch with fun like minded ladies! Thanks for making me smile this evening. Have a lovely time and hope you find some great friends to make this latest transition easier. Jxxz

  7. Addy Says:

    Have a great time.. they sound like my kind of ladies too.

  8. Lily Says:

    I’ve made it a rule never to lunch at someone’s house unless there’s an untidy tower of books in a corner and dog hair scattered under the settees and a bottle of wine on the table… it weeds out all the great bores!
    It sounds like perhaps you’ve found a kindred spirit or two in your new digs… best of luck! I’ve so enjoyed reading your adventures again, though I’ve winced in sympathy at all you’ve been through. From the outside (to your unknown admiring readers) it seems as if you’re pulling it off with grace and humour- bravo!
    – Lily

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