Cry Me a Mystic River

Okay, so being the cultural kind of broads that me and my co-whore, Denise-ee are, we go to see Dennis Lehane give a talk about his latest manuscript (it's pretty great). You know, the guy who wrote "Mystic River," and then sidled up to famous folks like Sean Penn, Tim Robins, and Clint Eastwood while they made a movie of the same name.

Well, due to a wardrobe malfunction (Denise-ee got a rip in her capri's left butt cheek), Denise-ee and I had to do "musical clothes" just before leaving my house for the literary "talk." The fashion snafu included taking off my "decent" skirt and letting her wear it and my grabbing this godawful hootchie number (long story) with these dangling enormous sequins the size of quarters all over it and wearing that instead.

I was a total fashion "don't." But my wilder skirts are (in)famous in these-here parts. My friends know me by my weird, wild skirts, so the cheap skirt was gonna be a hoot when we met up with them after hanging with Dennis Lehane. I didn't think twice about it. As for Denise-ee, she got all decked out for the night as a wild woman on the prowl.

Hootchie numbers are great for night clubs and good times with friends, but not so great for literary events with collegiate faculty up the wazoo, you know? In the audience we stayed anonymous, but when everyone got invited to a reception after, we kind a stood out. Hot stares of disdain were ours for the taking!

I felt that the reception was for "conference attendees" only, but they didn't technically "say" that. And Denise-ee started sashaying that ah way, and I thought, Oh, this is gonna be funny! Especially when Denise-ee helped herself to the hors d'oeuvres. I couldn't tell her my belief it was for insiders only. She was really enjoying herself. Then I said, Oh what the hell, I'm hungry...I'm sure Dennis wouldn't mind." And I helped myself to one teeny piece of jalepeno cheese.

It's amazing how fast a cheap skirt can clear a room. With my skirt literally "dingling" and "clanging" noisily from all the sequins the size of nickels and Denise-ee's big 80s teased-up hair and "chicken breast" falsies creating a wild set of bazoombah's on her, we quickly found ourselves isolated on one side of the room that was packed moments before. Everyone literally made their way to the other side. I was dying. But how were they to know that this was just one stop on the way to a funny, wacky night out with girlfriends?

Dennis showed up. We shimmied our way over to take photos. Once everyone saw we had the cajonies to ask for our picture (I guess literati probably thinks it's tres-tackay), boy, weren't they standing line for their turn! The funniest line of the night was when Denise-ee said to the author, "You know, if you add an 'e; to 'Dennis,' you get 'DenEESE!' That's MY name!" He cheerily went along with her insightfulness.

Dennis was ever-the-gracious host and gentleman. He took photos and acted like he didn't notice we looked like a couple ah floozies on the loose!

I figured, our work was done here, and dragged my gal-pal away from the sea of "students" and "faculty" and their oceans of flannel, denim, Birkenstocks, and bright polyester suits. We almost made it out the door, when Denise-ee yelled, "Wait!" She broke free to stuff a few brownies into a napkin--popping one into her mouth--before teetoring on stilettos down the stairs outside.

Oh, those poor, poor folks. Next time, I'll remember to wear my favorite flannel shirt and jeans to such a literary event and call it day. --Myki
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"Use words as if they have an expiration
date." -K. Llewellyn