I am ashamed about how ‘home grown” I am. Today a lady came to look at a car I have for sale while I was sweating away in the garage over an old bookcase. We got to chatting and I told her that my Daddy spent his life having his retired underwear used as dust rags in our home all stained with Old English. We chatted a bit about our dogs as well and I shared that I had owned a dog once that ate the waist bands to ALL of the family’s underwear while we were out on a Saturday excursion once and how I had to go to the Walmart with underwear pinned into my jeans with safety pins to stock up on new drawers for the entire family.
I am glad, however, that I get to select my own underwear at this stage of the game. I remember some of the underwear I got as a kid. My mom would go to the flea market and buy (in bulk) underwear from the textile mills of North Carolina that I now understand were seconds. Seconds, meaning there was SOMETHING wrong with them! I grew into my teen years thinking that one of my ass cheeks was freakishly bigger than the other and that painful (front) wedgies were normal. (I assume now that I was kissed by serendepity by getting undies with not enough crotch fabric.) Imagine my delight when I wore my first undies that were proportionate and didnt have cartoon characters on them with grotesquely smeared images.
I wonder about my sanity. I now have to face that my country-ass oversharing must be a cry for help.
Going to the movies (or the show, as my Momma always called it) has always been a real big treat for me. I remember many a hot summer afternoon spent in the back of Momma’s car with the windows cranked down sweatin ‘ my ass off all the way to the movie theatre. Mom would pack cans of coke and a baggie of candy and popcorn to sneak into the show. The warm soda would always be too shaken up from the car ride so that when we popped it open the sound would make everyone give us dirty looks. Ahhhh, good times.
I had not yet gone to see the movie Magic Mike so I put an update on Facebook that I needed my girlfriends to go with me. After two threads of people wanting to go and no real plans I sneaked off to the theatre late one evening alone because my bitches were just too hard to posse up. My kid was meeting a friend for a different show so I snatched on my best granny panties and headed for the theatre.
I sat alone in the dark waiting with my smuggled- in sangria and a bag of Rasinettes the size of your head. I looked around and noticed that I was surrounded by older ladies….I don’t mean cougars…I mean goddamned MOUNTAIN LIONS. I mean, hell, did these old bitches seriously think about getting’-it-on after a Red Hat Society Swap Meet? Did they really fantasize about hot young men in the middle of a nice game of bridge? Do they buy frilly things that they will model in a mirror when they’ve had too much white zin? Does the sound of a deep bass and the boom of drums with pumped up dudes stir things in them that would heat up the bingo parlor? Will I be interested when I am 70? Will I be all crunched up against a catwalk with crusty singles and a pocket full of Wurthers Originals screaming, “Come here, Sonny, and shake it for granny!” Is 70 the new 30? Will I be a GILF? Will there be a geriatric version of this movie released next year called Magic Milton? All of these thoughts scare me. Another scary thing: In comparison to my fellow movie-goers, I was a fresh hot thang.
The show started as did the music and dancing. It starts with “It’s Raining Men” but honey… it isn’t like the old Chippendales stuff you remember from the eighties. I damned near fell out! The old gals were hootin and hollerin and I swear I got hit with a rogue single or two. A bit later on Channing Tatum danced to Ride The Pony and just set things alive in me that I ain’t felt since jelly shoes and legwarmers, y’all! That cute young actor from the movie The Vow plays the main character, Magic Mike. I never got to see if, in fact, his Mike was magical but I can attest that the rest of him was. He has a pout on him like Santa Claus skipped his house and it makes me want to eat him with a spoon.
All of a sudden, a feeling of remorse crept up on me and I felt like a turd in a punchbowl as I sat there in the clothes that I had dragged myself in with: A shirt I could have asooned just dusted the house with, Capri pants that my nana even said went of of style, and clodhopper shoes that would leave you wondering what team I am batting for. I mean, hell, what does a gal wear to a strip show at the movies anyway? Next time I will wear a tasteful Lilly Pulitzer cardigan and a sweet skirt…no – too preppy and people will think I have wandered into the wrong theatre and missed the one the Christian church rents out on Friday night for the Virgin Support Group.
At any rate, I guess I was dressed just fine and nobody cared since the two gals to my left were showing their asses so badly in celebration that some old lady complained to management and the ladies were asked to leave. Well, they GOT TOLD to leave and they made a big-ass stink about it while gathering up their bootleg cocktails and snatching their arms all about and yellin out about being “a grown ass woman!” and all.
I don’t mind sharing with you that when Matthew McConaughey’s role was that of the kinda gross older dude I was dismayed and more than a tad disappointed. I sat there wondering how old he was in real life. Well don’t you know that the damned Wikipedia people say he is two years YOUNGER than me? What the hell is all THAT about!?!?! Here he was, all leather faced and sunken eyed and costumed in weird vests and a rattlesnake tail necklace just a pimpin out his club and advising his dancers (and looking a bit coked up, I might add). Although Matthew’s portrayal of the club owner was really well done it did make me long for the younger days of Matthew when he sat across from Ellen DeGeneres on her talk show all dressed in soft worn denim and chambray and telling her how to make Beer Can Chicken on the grill. Makes my ass crave some of that juicy yard bird right now. But I digress. Y’all.
I have never been to a male strip show in person because they always pick a plump gal in the audience to grind and with all the low carb enthusiasts my chances of being the only chub there are too great to risk it. I do not want to be the reason that Elephant Dick Earl has to file workman’s comp because he was busy making an on-stage spectacle of me and decides to flip me forgetting that I weigh as much as his Harley. I will tell you that he will STRUT over but he will LIMP back. For God’s sake…he’ll have to wear a Grimace costume and lure me on stage with a Big Mac and fries. And I DO NOT want it to end up on Youtube or Facebook posted by one of my dumb ass girlfriends or some random Chubby Chaser so everybody can have a good chuckle while I spank Dexter The Flexer or, god forbid, he spanks me and busts the seam on my Spanx knocking us and the whole damned first row unconscious from the release impact! Yep, sure enough, that video will go viral and I will have some ‘splainin’ to do at home. I also do not want to be NEXT to the girl that they do grind on. I mean, geez, that’s just as bad because everyone watches the girl next to her for the reaction. And my reaction, ladies and gents, would be to make like a baby and head out. Ya get me? I f I want to watch two clothed strangers hump all I have to do is attend the sexaholics support group meeting across town on Monday nights at 6 p.m. (Not that I ever go).
Another great little number they did was Save a Horse-Ride a cowboy. Girls…. The memory of that is still so vivid that I must have recently given Old Clem and uncomfortable feeling at the feed store when he loaded some dog chow for me last week. I think I was humming THAT song and may have gotten a bit to clos-e okay, I fell into him over the curb. (Pause) NOW DON’T LAUGH Y’all!!! He’s got a lazy eye and and a neck goiter but he’ll do in a pinch. Y’all quit cutting on Old Clem!
I loved, loved, loved the dance numbers and could have done without the story line. Let’s be real. I did not go because I heard it was a “good story”. I went because the trailer on the TV showed that purty young man doing a muscle-man pose to music. I couldn’t log on to Fandango fast enough.
I was happy to sit there in awe, drink my wine and eat six pounds of Raisinettes like I was going to the electric chair. The old gals behind me laughed and swooned and had a ball. Half of them left to go home in a retirement home bus and I imagined that the geezers over at Shady Acres would all have a little more hitch in their giddy up tomorrow. Save a Horse, Y’all! Yee HAW!!!!!!!