“The Thong Sisters Become French Broads With Bling”
(Combined minutes from the 2004-2005 gatherings.)
The “gatherings” originated when Suzanne invited Tina and Beverly to St Louis as a way to reach out to a hurting friend who had been betrayed by her husband. Over the years the gatherings have grown along with the sorrows and joys. The conversation has changed from college discussions regarding sex (who could forget Gravois reading from the sex manual . . .) to how to handle where our “couples” children should sleep when they come home to visit, now. We’ve been through chronic illnesses, divorces, death. This past Christmas, we all grieved at the loss of Bubba, and we rejoiced when Louise came ahead. Just like we rejoiced when Suzanne came after having missed several in a row. What started us on this “gathering journey” was a shared past and caring friendships.
But what keeps us gathering is a zest for having fun.
As we drive up the steep hill and debark at a rented house in Asheville, familiar faces and cries of welcome greet us from the decks above. Laughter, which is the hallmark of all our gatherings, is instantaneous and continuous. Hilarity abounds.
Sometimes it is from inadvertent insults. With Irma Thomas playing as always in the background, Dixie looks around our circle and observes how good we look. Then she says that she recently went to Carter’s reunion where the women looked terrible. Pushed to explain, she says, “For one thing, they didn’t care enough to dye their hair.” Dixie, who never offends, blushes as she realizes Evalyn and Tina are silver headed while several others are salt and pepper. So she hastens to add, “Or to diet.” Of course, everyone but Betty and Suzanne weigh in well beyond our college playing weight. Flustered, she tries to dig herself out of this deepening hole, and adds, “They just looked grandmotherly!” That “dig” hits Beverly, Louise, and Evalyn, again. Finally someone shouts over the cries of objections, “For heaven’s sake, Dixie, STOP!”
Other times the insults are teasingly intentional. Someone (who?) says, “Tina, for all these years, you’ve. . .(pause)” “always been beautiful?” Tina jokingly completes the sentence. “No, modest” someone else laughs. (I’m still wondering what the speaker was going to originally say.) Beverly at a later point continues in that vein, “Tina, you still look good—except for that chicken neck!” The insult is accompanied by her deep belly laugh. Unoffended, Tina (who is sometimes at odds with Beverly politically) throws back, “Beverly it’s not politically correct to make fun of someone’s goiter.”
But whatever the insults, no one takes offense. We’re all pretty tough skinned. In fact, one could say we’re “tough old broads”–except someone will take exception to that title. We never can agree on anything. Last year, Tina’s request that we name ourselves resulted in dozens of suggestions but never a consensus. Since we frequently gather at Beverly’s Perdido condo, someone (Kathy?) suggested calling ourselves “the beaches.” Charlotte thought that was too “suggestive.” We also bandied around “the thong sisters.” Earlier we had taken a picture to send to our missing sisters of us with flip-flops stuck down bosoms, under arms, in our hats, etc. The caption had read, “Here we are at the beach wearing our thongs.”
Still, some objected to calling ourselves “the thong sisters” until we went to the Floribama and received a “sign.” Walking in (we always make an entrance, but I’ll get to that later), some redneck sporting a mullet and obviously blind drunk, whispered in Tina’s ear, “You’re knock-dead gorgeous.” Another man (somewhat better in the looks department) came up, apparently looking for a blind date and asked if any of us were Kathy. “No, but I can be!” Charlotte chimed in. Oh, if her children could see her now! Could it have been those daiquiris Dixie had treated us all to at the bar? Finally we made our way to a tent where a man was playing a guitar and singing. We were his only audience of note, so he launched into his own version of a seventies Neil Diamond song, singing the words as “thong sung blue.” We all joined in singing along with him “thong sung blue, everybody knows one.” After a few more jokes and heckling from our group, he misjudged his audience (us) and started singing a song to his penis. We exited on that one, but we took the earlier song as a sign and we had our new name.
So Friday night at an Asheville house with a gorgeous view, everyone is bringing in their contributions for the weekend. Gladys, who unfortunately couldn’t come at the last minute, had made out a preliminary shopping list—skim milk, Muselix, yogurt, etc. In the spirit of Gladys’ requests, Kathy had made a stab at being healthy by bringing breakfast muffins made with whole wheat, but they were too delicious to count as health food. What else was brought didn’t even come close: pound cake from Suzanne, shrimp from Faye, chocolate chip cookies from Betty, strawberries and Dove dipping chocolate from Tina, and last, but certainly, most certainly, not least, “fourteen bottles of wine—seven red and seven white” from Beverly.
Not all the gifts were edible or drinkable. This year, in honor of our new name, we had bling-bling—thong necklaces from Beverly and Dixie, thong toe rings from Suzanne, thong floating candles from Betty. And who will ever forget the flashing rings from Tina? Someone (once again who?) asked bling-givers, “What truck stop did ya’ll shop at?”
The rings were for us all to wear Saturday night out to eat. Only Tina hadn’t planned on the fact that Kathy had actually made reservations for us to dine on the terrace at The Grove Park Inn! But whether at the Floribama or the Grove Park Inn, we always make an entrance, so there we were, eleven women approaching sixty, filing into the la-di-da lobby, wearing our flashing rings like fairy queens. Of course, someone objected to that description as well, snorting,” we’re not gay for heaven’s sake.” But since I’m writing this, I can take liberties and say, I thought the term apt—we were like queens graced with fairy dust.
Some of the group enjoy all the attention: As we file by, a man leans over to Charlotte and says “Like those rings!” She touches his arm and drawls laughingly back, “Why thank you, sir!” Some of the group were less ostentatious. I caught Betty covering her ring with her hand, and Linda had somehow “broken” hers so she couldn’t wear one. But the rings worked their spell. Little girls came up wanting to know where to get rings like that. One man asked what was the significance of the rings. When a group stopped by to comment, it was discovered they, too, were from LSU. By the end of the night, our waiter even knew some of our names. He brought a cover for “Tina’s plate” while she was gone to the bathroom. When more wine was ordered, he asked, “would you like to test the wine, Linda?” But he saved his punch line until we were getting up to leave when he asked with a grin, “So who’s the Lord?”
That explains the “bling” part of the title (to which someone raises the obligatory objection—“Isn’t bling bling a ghetto thing?”), but what about the rest of the title of this year’s minutes? Because we rafted the French Broad River, Kathy suggested we call ourselves “The French Broads” this year. Some immediately loved it, some didn’t. As Beverly wryly objected, “I refuse to be called broad anything.”
When Kathy, who is planning to travel up the Amazon this summer, had earlier suggested a milder version of a raft trip on the French Broad, some immediately signed up. Faye has a sailing boat and races in regattas (which she is not satisfied with unless they win.) She and her beautiful daughter, Molly, (who lives in Asheville) sign up for the Biltmore as well as the French Broad. (Molly must be especially adventurous to go with us “old broads.”) Betty who goes on annual wilderness adventures, like rafting and camping in the Grand Canyon, is in. And Tina has had a near-death experience in a canoe, so the raft trip sounded tame enough. Besides Walker, her son who is a former raft guide on the Ocoee, had assured her that the French Broad was a “good little old lady river.”
But not everyone was so eager. Louise had fallen out last time she went on a raft trip. Linda, who was all for going, had been given strict instructions from Sylvie, “don’t you dare think about it.” Suzanne was leery from the start and had kept the plans a secret from Scott. “Are you not going to tell him we went?” someone asked. She thought for a minute and then decided, “I’ll just tell him we went on a nice float trip.” Evalyn, too, was worried as she read–and reread– the hold harmless agreement she had to sign. She was the last one to get on the bus, but when bundled up in her PFD, she climbed those bus steps, we all broke out in applause. Even the Boy Scouts joined in.
I think the guides got together and flipped coins to see who got the Boy Scouts and who got the “old broads.” On the first rapids, Louise did indeed fall. But she was experienced this time and fell INTO the boat—right on top of Tina. By the end of the trip, Evelyn decided we were ready for a “step up next time” and Suzanne was sore the next day, but declared it “worth it.”
Of course, we had to set the plans for next year’s gathering. But it took all weekend. Suzanne suggested Tyler, but that fell through when she hastily clarified, “but not at my house.” Dixie graciously offered her villa, which did appeal, esp. if we could coordinate with a jazz night under the mountain stars. But what won out was Linda’s offer of her brother’s house in Pass Christian. We immediately started planning a visit to KD house at LSU for nostalgia’s sake, and a swamp trip for fun. Suzanne uneasily asked, “There aren’t any alligators on those swamp trips, are there?” We assured her that they chase all the alligators out of the swamp before the trip starts. How could something from our roots that comes under the heading of “fun” not be the winner?
Yes, having fun is definitely part of what keeps us gathering.
