When the hostess escorted us through the upscale restaurant, and out to the patio to seat us, she had no idea of the shit storm known as Four Girlfriends Meeting For Lunch that was about to hit.
I’ve known these girls for many years, and when we get together, there is no shortage of (loud) conversation, inappropriateness, laughter, and over-ordering.
The conversation always starts out with the basic catch-up session, the what have you been up to-how’s work-how are the kids-how’s your husband type of banter. Then, seeing how I am now the only one without a husband anymore, the conversation always turns to the sooooooo, how’s dating? And the vicarious questioning begins. I spend some time entertaining them with a few stories I’ve accumulated into my repertoire, and it’s a whole new ballgame having fresh meat in the mix of conversation.
After all of that has ensued, the storytelling usually begins. “Remember the time…” which leads to raucous laughter. Always. It’s like a game of one-upping the level of inappropriateness to see who can get the biggest laugh. I don’t hold much back when I write, but seriously, there are things that were thrown out there that even I would be embarrassed to repeat. It was that awesome.
We were off to the races, and there were no holds barred as we kicked off with the topic of butthole waxing, Nairing, shaving and bleaching. Who the fuck would get their butthole bleached in the first place? What a fucked up profession, to be a butthole bleacher. I said that I would just use a Crest White strip, and we laughed loud enough to get our first round of disgusted looks from the surrounding patrons.
One of the girls had actually tried to put Nair on it, which was a great idea, until the horrifying burning kicked in. Good times! Then, as we’re all classlessly snort laughing, one of the girls pulled up a very enlarged photo of a bleached asshole on her iphone, and laid it on the table, face up next to her glass, as the waiter approached to fill our iced teas. There is no way he didn’t see it, we were fucking dying, because we are all super mature.
The high point of the day however, was when my 31-year-old, very petite, blonde, Tori Burch wearing friend, told the following story.
“Guys, ok, so the other day I was in the shower and I felt something on my butthole. Seriously, I freaked because we have so many ticks around our woods and I was like how the fuck did a tick get on my butthole? I was seriously freaking out, and mortified because I had to ask my husband to look at it and pull it off! (We are all in hysterics with tears rolling down our faces at this point) So, totally humiliated, I bent over on the bed and he looked at it. He pinched it and started to pull it off and was like “Fuck! Dude! It’s attached!” It hurt so fucking bad, and that is because it was a hemorrhoid, not a tick.”
Oh. My. God. Kill me. I’m dead.
The laughter was so intense it was silent, and only tears ran down our faces as I actually peed myself a little, I couldn’t breathe. A hemorrhoid. Dear god, it doesn’t get any funnier than that. Just the image of her very clean-cut husband pulling a tick/hemorrhoid off of her asshole was the funniest fucking thing I had ever heard. We laughed loud enough that they should have kicked us out. Our only saving grace being that our over-ordering and enormous check kept our annoyed waiter more concerned with his tip than the 12 adults having a family reunion luncheon right behind us with their eyerolls and horrified expressions.
The moral of the story? There isn’t one, but that shit is FUNNY!
Categories: True Stories