country club venture

We got to the Farmer’s Market as it was closing, so Ford drove me to his uncle’s country club in Belle Meade, a ritzy neighborhood populated by lots of Jaguars and yard workers. THE neighborhood in Nashville…ask Faith Hill.

I was skeptical.

I mean, admittedly, I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t my scene. I’d only been to a country club once before and that was with an ex-girlfriend of mine who was VERY in the closet. We got roped in to Easter brunch with her parents after her mom discovered us in her pink canopied bed, having walked home together the night before from a party two blocks away. Luckily we’d been too drunk to claw each others’ underwear entirely off, so when her mother sauntered into the bedroom, I had just enough time to pull my face out of her pink-lace-covered cleavage where I’d passed out. We sat up to a shrill, “L___! Time to go. Your father’s waiting in the car. And bring your friend along.” (Imagine smeared-mascara-raccoons-in-the-headlights with the sheets pulled up to our chins.)

I was so hung over I had to leave a couple of times to “visit the ladies’.” I remember pink cloth napkins and the clink of her mother’s gargantuan diamond ring against her Bloody Mary as she raised it to her red lips…and recognizing a neighbor of mine who was a waiter there and had to offer us four different types of muffins from a basket. I felt like a traitor.

But despite my reluctance, I had an awesome time with Ford. And I learned to play squash! Squash is like playing raquetball with a ball that’s had most of the bounce taken out. My quads are killing me from lunging.

And I beat Ford like 5 times.

Jane seems kind of agitated now. She’s banging pots and pans around in the kitchen.

Today it’s back to the computer and whoring my resumé out to every possible employer…yah, I just sent one to the Dollar General Management Team. I hope I don’t have to wait tables again.

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