Whale of a Tale

As I stood at the service bar waiting for a table at RL the last Sunday, I overheard the bartender and a couple servers discussing their night out. And? It sounded like fun. And it occurred to me that I haven't really been "out" since my birthday, which was two months prior. Which isn't any big deal, really, but all of a sudden it struck me that I missed having fun. Not necessarily getting wasted, mind you, but going out with people and having fun. So I made an announcement right then and there: "You know what? I hereby resolve in 2008 to have more fun. To go out more. To be a bit more IR-responsible!" I puffed out my chest. "Yup, and I'm gonna lose a bunch of weight too so I can look good doing it. AND? I'm gonna loosen up more too!"

"YAY!" came the chorus from my fellow RL crew.

Yesiree, Bob, this was gonna be my year. Fun fun fun. Although I plan on staying away from the South Side this time. We all know what happened then. Pathetically, though, that was the last time I "hung out" with anyone. Oy, what a sad, sad person I have become!!

In my resolve to be fun and more daring, I bought something I never thought I would: several pairs of thong underwear. See, it just never occurred to me that someone Sir Mix-A-Lot used for his inspiration while writing "Baby Got Back" should ever wear a thong. Plus, I always wondered why, if I was constantly trying to pull underwear out of my crack, I would ever buy underwear that deliberately goes there. Seemed like I would go insane wearing them. But guess what? I didn't! And although I need a bit more work for anyone to see me in only a thong, the reality is that with no panty lines, my ample ass doesn't look half bad, actually. And the comfort level? Pretty darn good. I came to realize there is a big difference between a small piece of material deliberately placed in your crack and a huge chunk of material inappropriately wedged there.

So on Saturday night, I started asking around. "You going out tonight? You going out tonight?" As it turned out, Ashley and John were going to have people over for drinks and Cranium. YAY!!! Drinks and Cranium!! What FUN!! Although I had never actually played Cranium, I was sure it would be a good time. So I told Ashley I had to check in with the boss (that would be Lexie), but that I would try to make it.

I left work at 11:15 pm, and called Lexie on my way home. Not surprisingly, she wanted me anywhere but home so she could keep playing Habbo online and talk to her BFF on the phone while doing so. Apparently having your mother in the direct vicinity takes the fun out of junior high conversations. I stopped home to make sure that was all she was doing (although I have a pretty good kid, so I really didn't doubt her) and took a quick shower. After pouring the remainder of a probably five year old bottle of raspberry vodka into a little sports bottle (about enough for three drinks) I smooched my angel and headed out the door.

I picked up some pink lemonade on my way over, and when I got there, I was ready for some Cranium. Bring it on!! Everyone was surprised to see me, but I reminded them that I was the fun dasi in 2008, so they shouldn't be surprised. And we split into four teams of three and played Cranium. Which, by the way, is really fun. Especially when you've had just a smidgen of alcohol. Ashley kept creating new shots for us to try, but I had to limit myself as I was driving. (Even irresponsibility has its limits, you know.) After we finished the game (which my team lost on a technicality), I was leaning over looking up something on their computer, and that's when I heard it:

"LOOK! Dasi is wearing a thong!!"

Catcalls and snickers followed, and I very nonchalantly responded, "Yes, I am! It is part of the new and improved dasi, thank you very much. My very first thong, by the way."

"Don't fix it," I was told, "it's called a whale tail. And it looks sexy." This from the not-quite-21 year old who looks like Marissa Tomei and is sweet as hell, especially since she thinks I am cool. So I took her advice and fought the urge to adjust my unmentionables which had suddenly become quite, well, mentionable.

"Hey, I like it," one of the guys added.

I wanted to giggle. But I didn't. Because I am a grown mature woman and grown mature women don't giggle. Then again, they probably don't have whale tails or play Cranium on Saturday nights after midnight. So I settled for feeling a little smug and kind of sexy too.

I think maybe being grown and mature is overrated. At least some of the time.

Yay 2008!