That’s what I call them.
The sort I have to curl my hair dressed up to the nines and put on make up for. The ones I go to Mallorca or Canary Islands, Sarah Brightman concerts, discuss the stock exchange, Swarovski collection and wine; but never about racism, street children or global warming. The real life how real people live it, they don’t want to know.
We see them every other week, once a month if I can help it. Each couple takes turns to entertain in their own homes mostly on Saturdays and would last till about early in the morning.
At the table, men often talk about their latest achievements in their chosen fields, hobbies like paragliding and windsurfing and what their financial plan once retired.
Women, career people or not would debate about the quality of sectional ports, ski holidays, hotels, spas and who is going with whom together with the prices of haircuts, their latest purchased and how silly their husbands are becoming. I, in turn “always” shut up.
I learned that if I say something, the table will suddenly go quiet, everyone will try to begin another topic all at once and the laughter will be more stressed and high pitch than ever before. I have a feeling they are all wary of me. As if I carry a grenade somewhere inside my purse and will drop it in their middle on slight provocation. Imagine that.
Why I socialize with these friends? Well, because in our line of works we need networks, we need references, and viva voce is still is the best and the most credible form of advertising and crucial for every business. You need to give some to receive some. Maybe they don’t understand me as a person but they have respect for what I do and they all adore my partner, the golden boy.
So, once in a while I go put on some decent clothes, smear some war paint and do what I do best; excelling in things I dislike the most.
(No wonder that Emily Dickinson is my favourite poet)
Deprived of other Banquet,
I entertained Myself—
At first—a scant nutrition—
An insufficient Loaf—
But grown by slender addings
To so esteemed a size
‘Tis sumptuous enough for me—
And almost to suffice
A Robin’s famine able—
Red Pilgrim, He and I—
A Berry from our table