My Book Club

I am in a book club.

Okay, that's not really true.  It was true for about two months.  About two years ago.

Now, it's kinda more like I'm in a social club.  That occasionally (okay, only twice) reads a book (and that's a very generous description of our reading material).  And eats fabulous food that we all bring to the gathering.  And there's wine.  A lot of wine.

But most importantly, there's friendship.  And love.  And support.  The kind that only your bestest girlfriends can give you.

Here's the scoop on the BFD's (Betty Ford Dropouts--our book club name).

It really did start out as a book club.  I have wanted to be in a book club for years.  My parents have been in a book club for literally as long as I can remember.  It seemed something worthy of aspiring to be a member of.  So I started asking my girlfriends if they were interested.  I presented this fabulous idea wherein each month we would read a current literary work and, over dinner and drinks,  have revealing and thought-provoking discussions as to how the characters related to our lives and the world around us.

They were interested.  Kind of.  They loved the idea of getting together once a month.  They adored the idea of having dinner together and catching up over a glass (or five) of wine.  They were excited about the thought-provoking discussions.

The whole "read a book" part seemed to get lost somewhere.

I don't think it was because no one wanted to read a book.  It had more to do with people thinking they were too busy to get through a whole book.  It also had a little to do with trying to find a book that appealed to everyone in the group--a tough challenge for a group of nine women with varied jobs, families, interests, and available time.

We forged ahead, though, and at our first official gathering, we delved into the depth and complexity of Cosmopolitan magazine.

Yep.  Cosmo.  Not exactly what I had envisioned for my book club, but it was a start.  It was, at the very least (and wow, this did give new meaning to the term 'very least') all of us discussing the same thing, so we had that going for us.

Did it really matter that the "same thing" we were discussing was the tactic of using your thong underwear as a scrunchie in your hair in order to feel more sexy and turn on your spouse?  Or what you can "accomplish" in the shower, besides actually bathing?  It was animated and enthusiastic discussion, I will definitely say that.  I'm not really sure we would have had the same results discussing, say, The Help.

For this inaugural meeting we met at our local Chevy's so no one would have to clean their house and then clean up again after everyone left.  It seemed like such a great idea.

This was the first and last time we ever met outside of one of our homes for a BFD gathering.  Incidentally, it's also one of the last times we actually discussed any reading material.

As it turns out, discussing thong underwear (and that wasn't even one of the racier topics covered) in a booth at Chevy's is not what I'd call comfortable when you have a small child from the booth behind you hanging his head into your booth and listening to the conversation.  Awkward.  Don't really know (or want to know) what that child took away from his otherwise lovely dinner out with his family.

Suffice it to say that neither he nor his future girlfriends are really going to understand his fixation with scrunchies.

We have since altered our meetings somewhat.  We have put ourselves on house arrest--no more public gatherings.  We have virtually eliminated the "book" part of book club.  Our only other forays into literary material were one Harlequin Romance (named, and I kid you not, Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex--yeah, we are Classy with a capital C) and Wifey--described by the author herself as an "adult novel".  That's not-so-subtle code for "don't let your kids get their hands on this one".

Detecting a pattern?

It's pretty hard to miss.  Lost amidst the obvious raunchiness, however, would be the heart of this group.

As much as we all have fun knocking back a few glasses of wine, maybe a jello shot here and there, reading what would be generously described as smutty material, what we really look forward to the most is each other.

We talk.  We listen.  We giggle.  We sympathize.  We console.  We support.  We laugh.  We celebrate each other's milestones and mourn each other's losses.  We give advice and we take advice and we ignore advice.  We have a lot to say to each other, and the conversation never gets dull.

I was looking for a book club.  I guess, technically, I get that occasionally.  But even better is what I get consistently: a group of smart, funny, considerate, perceptive, supportive girlfriends.

Who all know what to do with a scrunchie.